Pam Keaton - Artist and Author

 

 

 4 Stories

  

KEEPSAKES

 

Thorns ripped into soft flesh--reaching and clinging as if fighting for possession of the prey.  Susie winced as she sat up and studied the deep red stripes that curled around her calves.  The bruises and cuts were painful, but she felt a small sense of pride at these future exhibits of her courage and determination. 

 

Time was not on her side.  Her escape would surely have been discovered by now, and the pursuing guards must not be far behind.  Resting for a moment, Susie glanced behind her at the thick underbrush.  She had left a trail of broken stems—battered, but glistening with satisfaction at their blood-union with the interloper.  Her breathing was painful from the last full out run, and she tried to control it by pulling the cold air in through her nostrils and exhaling through her mouth.  As usual, though, it was difficult because her lungs were desperate for more air. 

 

Suddenly, the faint echoes of the barking dogs reached Susie’s ears.  She knew they would be coming, but she had hoped to be closer to the border by that time.  With a final gasp, she rolled back onto her stomach and pulled herself through the last yards of undergrowth out into what she recognized as a mine field.

 

There was only one way through this new obstacle, and that was to continue on her stomach.  She must move carefully, studying intently the ground in front of her for the tell-tale signs of the disturbed earth covering each mine.  Beads of fear sweat streamed into her eyes, burning and blurring her vision as she made her way meticulously along.  She remembered the barbed-wire lines that she shinnied under during her special training.  The exercises had been designed to teach her and her fellow cadets to stay low and not trip any booby traps.  Susie had joined in the giggles of those who made fun of the training, but she was grateful for it now.

 

By the time she reached the other side of the mine field, the dogs were getting much too close.  She needed cover.  The tree 50 feet ahead was the only cover around; so she leapt from her stomach and ran for it.  Scurrying into the tree, she surveyed her surroundings for the next possibility of escape.  The dogs were being led expertly through the mine field, but she could see from her vantage point that the border fence was only a couple hundred yards ahead.

 

After clearing the mine field, the dogs were released, and the guards fell behind.  As the excited canines reached the base of the tree, it seemed to Susie that all hope was gone.  But then, something miraculous happened—or rather did not happen.  The dogs did not look up into the tree, but merely barked and sniffed confusedly around its base before retracing their paths back toward the approaching guards.  What were the chances that trained tracking dogs would forget to look up into a tree?  It was, surely, only a temporary reprieve.  It was only a matter of moments before the dogs came back with the guards; and the guards would not forget to look up. 

 

It was now or never, and Susie knew it.  The dogs might turn around and come back at any moment, and she had to make it to that border.  She dropped to the ground as softly as she could, allowing the bending of her knees to absorb the landing shock.  As she did so, she remembered a humorous dog warning sign she had seen on one of her neighbor’s board fences back home.  It was the silhouette of two guard dogs with a caption that read “They can make it to the fence in 5 seconds.  Can you?”  Funny what flashes through your mind at a time like this, Susie thought.

 

As she knew they would, the dogs heard her landing, and the final race was on.  People used to tell Susie that she ran like a deer, and now was the time to prove it.  It had all come down to this.  She must get to the border fence faster than those dogs could.   

 

Arms and legs pumping, fingers pulling methodically at the air, Susie tore across the field.  The shouts of the guards and the barking dogs faded into the background as she focused on the rhythmic sucking of air through her teeth and the pounding of her feet on the twigs and dry soil.  Her blood red cheeks vibrated with each stride, and she began to recognize the roller-coaster-like sensation in her stomach as she reached the climax of her fear.  One of the dogs was right behind her, but there were only a few more steps to go.  She could almost…reach…the…door.

 

The adrenaline rush culminated in a shriek from Susie as she yanked the awaiting car door open and dove in.  Less than two seconds after pulling the door shut, her faithful companion and lone pursuer jumped up and rested his muddy paws in the open window.  His tongue hung to the side dripping with saliva as he panted and waited for Susie’s approval.    Ah!  What fun!

 

Susan sat quietly on the hill overlooking the old briar patch.  She smiled warmly at the remembrance of her former pet and one of their favorite childhood games.  Trailing her fingers along her outstretched legs, she found that only a few small scars had remained into her young adulthood.  They were keepsakes of the beloved hours she spent climbing trees, crossing creeks on fallen logs, and crawling through imaginary mine fields.

 

Clad in comfortable clothes and armed with the customary tree-branch rifle, Susan had wanted to re-live a part of her childhood.  But she frowned as she searched within herself for a spark of that old desire—the desire to defy relaxation and endure the inevitable scrapes and bruises for the sake of a mere hour’s escape to the great outdoors and into her own imagination. 

 

The child within was being overruled, however, by the sensible adult.  Through years of untamed growth, the briar patch had become an impenetrable fortress that no puny little tree-branch rifle could beat through.  The cool flowing creek was now merely a trickling stream lost somewhere inside the thick underbrush.  Her beloved family pet had passed away long ago; and the low branches of the trees she used to climb were too high to tempt her now.  

 

With a sigh of defeat, Susan heaved the forked branch and watched it disappear into the awaiting tentacles.  Then, she turned and shuffled soberly back over the hill.

 

 

 

 

 

THE VISIT

 

I met HER today.  I was in the area for three days; and I tried, on several occasions, to stop by, but fear kept holding me back.  Today, I went to the old house on the hill and pretended that my car was broken down on the road and that I needed to use the telephone.

 

Her mother let me in, as I knew that she would.  She offered me coffee, and I accepted.  It was instant and not very good; and there was no milk or creamer. Embarrassed, she apologized and told me that her name was Muriel; but that she didn’t have a telephone.  I could go next door to the neighbor’s house and use their phone—like she always did.  Or, she said, I could wait.  Her husband was good with cars, and he could probably fix mine when he got home.

 

I chose to wait.  I knew it would be hours before the man of the house got home from work; and that would give me time enough to meet them all…including HER.

 

The home was even more bare and depressing than I remembered.  A single light bulb dangled from a wire above a wobbly metal kitchen table.  The chairs were miss-matched, several with padding protruding from cracked vinyl-covered seats.  On one side of the room, two tall windows flanked a rusting metal and cast iron sink.  Across each window, a stained panel of material was stretched to its fullest extent—amateur hem stitches clearly visible.  A thin cloth belt from a lady's dress had been pushed through the top hem of each “curtain” and was then tied around a nail on either side of each window.   Resourceful; but actual curtain rods were never really that expensive, were they?

 

I glanced up at the sticky fly tape dangling above my head.  It was densely covered with flies which, I supposed was more desirable than having them swarm around the room. 

 

In another corner of the room was a metal bath tub that had been set in place beside the kitchen stove instead of being installed in a bathroom.  The house had no bathroom except for the small whitewashed building in the back yard—affectionately dubbed “The White House."  There was no hot water either.  The bath water was heated on the kitchen stove and poured directly into the adjacent tub.  A water hose attached beneath the tub and stretched out the back door dispersed the water after bathing.  As crude as this set up was, it was an improvement over the small round wash tub that used to be drug out of the closet every Saturday night.

 

Shifting my attention away from the steaming pan of water acting as a humidifier atop a small brown wood stove, I asked Muriel when we might expect the children home from school.  I would have been more careful than to ask such a question of another mother.  “How did you know I had children?” another mother might ask suspiciously.  But, as I expected, Muriel was not alarmed.  She smiled and said the bus would drop the children off at any minute.

 

As we waited, Muriel seated herself opposite me and rested her elbows on the table.  At probably only 185 pounds, she was not as obese as I had always remembered.  Her black wavy shoulder length hair was longer, too, than I thought it would be.  She absent-mindedly picked at a scab on one forearm and began to make typical small talk with me.  Was I married? Did I have any children?  And wasn’t I a pretty woman?  This sweet remark made my eyes grow moist, but I quickly regained control.

 

She seemed truly unaware of how meager her home was for the nineteen seventies.  She offered me cold macaroni salad made simply of overcooked macaroni, probably two cans of peas, and way too much mayonnaise.  If was funny to me that she prepared that on this of all days.  Did she really serve macaroni salad that often?

 

I heard an engine in the distance, and I knew that the children were home.  My pulse quickened; and, strangely, my mouth went dry.  I shifted nervously in my chair and tried to prepare myself for the meeting.  I had thought of this day often.  I had rehearsed over and over, planned my words carefully, and anticipated HER suspicion of me.  I had to be careful not to appear too eager or too strange.  SHE would be suspicious—more so than her mother, who should not be as naïve as she has always been…will always  be.

 

The children filed into the kitchen, no doubt ready for some kind of after school snack.  The two oldest girls came in first and stopped mid-giggle when they saw me.  They politely said “Hello” and deposited their schoolbooks on the table as Muriel explained about my broken down car.  Except for different colored hair and the dark-rimmed glasses worn by the blond-haired girl, the sisters looked very similar.  Actually, with not even ten months between their ages, they were often assumed to be twins.   As they slid into their seats at the table, I heard soft footfalls approaching from the other room.  I swallowed a lump in my throat as SHE came into the room. 

 

Her green eyes met mine only briefly.  She was not used to meeting strangers and even less accustomed to finding them in her own home.  I was struck by how blond her hair was.  It was almost white.  She was thin, though not sickly.  They didn’t have the best of meals in their household, but they didn’t go to bed hungry…often.

 

She was wearing a light pink dress with sleeves that hugged her upper arms and then flared out below the elbows like the sleeves of a choir robe.  The dress was straight with no waistline, but several inches below the waist, the skirt erupted into billowing folds.  It was her favorite dress; so, it shouldn’t have surprised me that she would be wearing it today.  It was a pretty dress, but it did not go well with her knobby knees and sockless legs—or with her loose-fitting brown loafers.  I smiled when I saw the bruises on her shins, because I knew they didn’t hurt.  She was even proud of them, because they made her different from the prissy girls at school.  They meant that she had climbed trees and jumped over streams.  They meant that she had climbed into haylofts and ridden back yard fuel tank “elephants.” 

 

Nervously, she pushed a few escaping shoulder length trusses behind her ears and slipped into a chair across from me.  I could see her ragged and dirty fingernails as she reached for a glass of juice that Muriel sat in front of her.  She saw me notice them; and, quickly, she sat the glass down, placing her hands beneath the table.  I apologized and told her it was alright; My fingernails used to always be dirty too.  When she got older and started doing dishes, her nails would be clean.  She smiled, and I was pleased; because I hadn’t come to make her uncomfortable.  That was, in fact, the last thing I wanted to do.

 

We sat for a few minutes as I listed to the older girls’ answers to my questions about school and their favorite colors, books, movies, and songs.  I could see that SHE had become more comfortable in my presence; so I knew that it was time. 

 

“Would you girls like to hear a story?” I asked.  They all nodded their heads and waited eagerly.  “This is actually kind of a sad story, but I think it’s important.”

 

I told them about a young girl named Tess who had a little sister named Celia.  Tess and Celia lived down a gravel road from a man who had a wife and a little girl named Grace, who was Celia’s age.  Sometimes, when their neighbors came to Tess and Celia’s house, Grace’s mother was wearing dark sunglasses and didn’t smile much.  Sometimes the man brought his motorcycle over and offered to take the girls for rides.  Taking turns, the girls rode with the man up and down the gravel road. 

 

Tess began to feel uncomfortable about how the man always took her hands and placed them around his waist as she road on the seat behind him.  He seemed to keep his hands on hers a little too long.  Tess also didn’t like the way the man looked at her and touched her on the shoulder; and she thought that he smiled too much.  She decided that she didn’t like the man very much; and she made it a point to stay away from him from that time on.  She did not, however, think that it was important to say anything to her parents or to her little sister. 

 

One day, Celia came home from spending the night with her friend, Grace.  Tess didn’t notice how quiet her little sister had become or how strange she acted sometimes when the telephone rang.  Finally, one night, after watching a television movie about a man who did bad things to little girls, Celia tearfully confided in Tess that the man down the gravel road had done some of those same things to his daughter, Grace; and when Celia spent the night with Grace, he tried doing some of those things to her.  She made a big commotion and got away from him; but, since then, he had been calling the house and saying things to Celia if she answered the telephone.  She hadn’t told anyone earlier because he told her that no one would believe a little girl. 

 

Tess was heartbroken that she hadn’t even thought to warn Celia about how strangely the man behaved.  She believed that it never would have happened if she had only said something to her parents or to her little sister.  Celia’s parents believed their daughter; but they didn’t have any proof; and they lacked the courage to tell the police.  From that time on, though, no visits were ever made up and down the gravel road.  

 

For the rest of her life, Celia always acted shy and uncomfortable; and she never quite seemed to be happy.  Tess always believed that her sister could not forget what had happened to her; and Tess always felt guilty because she didn’t do anything to prevent what happened.

 

“Well, that poor little girl!”  Muriel said when I finished the story.  “I swear!  Some men have devils in them!”

 

Other mothers might have scolded me for telling such a story to their young girls; but I knew that Muriel wouldn’t react that way.  I knew that Muriel had sad secret childhood memories of her own which had taught her about the evil that some men do.

 

The two older girls were astonished.  They began to say how they were not worried about men.  If someone tried something with them, they would simply kick him “where it counts” and run away.  I could see that SHE, however, thoughtfully considered my words and stored them in her memory.  I tried not to show my extreme relief.

 

“I have gifts for your daughters.”  I told Muriel.  “May I give them to them?”  How I should just happen to have gifts for her daughters should have made her curious.  But, of course, it did not. 

 

“Well, that’s awful nice of you.”  She said as I removed the gifts from my bag.  To each of the girls I gave a small hardbound book.  Each contained stories of courage and of possibilities even in the face of adversity.

 

“You must promise to read them often and really think about what they teach you.”  I told them.  And then, I made a mistake.  “I have one here for your youngest daughter too.  Is she upstairs sleeping?”  I asked.  Muriel looked puzzled, and she asked me how I knew she had another daughter?  She didn’t think she had mentioned it, and the youngest girl was with her grandmother at the time. 

 

“Oh, I’m sure you mentioned it, Muriel.”  I said, flustered.  I waited, nervously, for her to accept my reply; and I was much relieved when she did, because I didn’t have another reason ready.  I wasn’t supposed to know their family.  I was, after all, just a passerby.

 

“You know” I said.  “I think I’ll go next door after all and use their telephone.  I would love to meet your husband, but I really should be going.”  I knew the girls’ father would be home soon, and I was not sure that I could keep up my charade with him.  He was neither as naïve as his wife nor as young as his daughters.  Part of me did long to see him, though; but I knew that it was time to go. 

 

“Well, goodbye.” I said to them as I rose to leave.

 

“Goodbye” they said and waved.

 

SHE slid from her chair across from me and followed me to the door.  I felt tears stinging the backs of my eyes as she placed her hand in mine.

 

“You never told us your name.”  She said.  I turned and knelt in front of her, looking at her lightly freckled nose and into her questioning green eyes.  What could it hurt?

 

“My name is Patricia.” I said.

 

“Hey!  That’s my name too!”  She exclaimed with a smile.

 

“I know.”  I answered softly as I gave her a wink.  Rising, I patted her on the head and ended by letting my fingers gently gather and ruffle her hair.  I closed my eyes, because it was just too much.

 

I cried as I walked past the neighbor’s house and entered the wormhole.  I knew the meeting would be emotional, but I didn’t realized just how difficult it would be to leave.  I only hope that my visit to 1976 was successful.  I always wanted to travel back in time and see the young girl that I used to be—poor, self-conscious, and lonely even in a crowd.  Before I left, I wanted to hold her and tell her it was me…her…and promise her that everything will turn out alright.  But that sort of thing can never be permitted.  Merely sharing the reality of time travel with someone in the past could have major repercussions in and of itself.

 

As you know, time travel and wormhole manipulation has been discovered; but it has not yet been perfected.  Very few people are permitted to participate in these trials; and those of us who are chosen have to clearly define our goals so that the possible future effects can be thoroughly analyzed.  You are all in this room because our team of researchers has determined that, like mine, your specific outlined goals for time travel should not cause any dramatic impact on the future of world events. 

 

I believe that my goal was satisfactorily met today.  I believe that young Patricia will remember the story told to her and her sisters by the strange visitor in 1976.  When she gets older and familiar things start to happen, I believe that she will be wiser than I was.  She will warn her parents and her little sister about the man who lives down the gravel road—the man who smiles too much and touches for too long. 

 

We are only allowed to make small suggestions that affect the thoughts and decisions of our predecessors—things that may change their outlook on life or that may prevent some personal tragedy from taking place while not greatly affecting the world in general.  This is why the public cannot be told about this discovery.  If the technology fell into the wrong hands, it could have absolutely catastrophic results.

 

During the next days, each of you will be thoroughly briefed in exactly what is and is not expected of you as you undergo your trial.  As I am sure you can understand, none of you will be permitted to leave these grounds until all of the trials are over and the wormhole has been closed.  Unfortunately, you will also not be permitted to have any communication with the outside world.  This is for the security of this project as well as for the safety of the world.  We do NOT, therefore, take security lightly.

 

Okay, well our time is almost up for now; so you are all free to return to your rooms—that is—unless anyone has any questions.

 

Wow!  That’s a lot of hands. 

 

 

 

THE DRUMROLL

       

       She sat with her eyes cast downward, intently studying the wrinkled pattern of her skirt.  It seemed to her that he could surely hear her beating heart. 

 

       “This is ridiculous!” she thought.  “Not quite like in the movies.  Not quite so easy.  Why can’t I think of something to say?  I never had this trouble before.”

 

       She kept her head down, unwilling to look over at him.

 

       He sat stiffly beside her, scrutinizing the rustling of the grass in the breeze.  Occasionally, he moved to send a small stone sailing into the stream below.  Then he sat back, systematically lifting his ball cap with one hand and stroking back his wavy black hair with the other hand.

 

       She drew her head back to rest against the tree behind her; and, studying the soft contours of the clouds, she nervously cleared her throat.

 

       “Why can’t I think of anything clever to say?” her mind seemed to scream.  “We used to sit at church picnics and indoor dinners and talk for hours—only stopping THEN because our parents were ready to leave.  Haven’t we even sat under this very tree on many Sunday afternoons exchanging our opinions, aspirations, past histories, and embarrassing moments?”

 

       But that had been when they were “just friends.”  She loved him now, and it was very hard to think of mundane conversational topics when her heart was pounding so.   She felt almost breathless with the excitement of revealing her new feelings to him.  Surely the previous comfortable nature could never return until she was open with him.  But then, maybe it was already gone forever.

 

“Why doesn’t he say something?”  she thought.  “Maybe then I will be able to speak.”

 

Lightly moving his hand back and forth over the grass between them, he pulled a long blade from its place and lifted it to him for closer inspection.  He twisted it a few times between his two forefingers and then, as if it no longer pleased him, he dropped it and pulled another blade to repeat the action.

 

“Oh, just tell him!” a voice in her head coaxed.  It seemed that she could hear--almost feel--in her ears her own pounding heart.  It was as if her heart was beating out a drum roll for the daring feat that she was about to attempt.  She swallowed a few times until she felt the dryness of her mouth disappear; and she reached down to straighten her skirt across her knees one last time.  Then, she clasped her hands together tightly, closed her eyes, and spoke almost in a whisper.

 

“I…love you.” 

 

She waited, wondering what would happen next.  She noticed that he had stopped twisting the blade of grass; but that was it.  After a shaky, nervous giggle she added  “Wow!  That was really hard to say!”

 

At first, his continued silence made her wish that she hadn’t said it.  Of course he didn’t feel the same way.  He was just a good friend.  This wasn’t fair of her.  After another few moments of silence, she began to seriously wonder if she even HAD said it.  Maybe she just THOUGHT she said it.  Afraid to look up at him, she kept her head bowed and tried with all her might to remember.  Had she really said it out loud?

 

She didn’t see him let the blade of grass fall to the ground.  And she didn’t see him rub his moist hands along his jean clad legs.  But when she felt his hand softly cover her own, she knew that she had said it. 

 

And he had heard.

 

 

 

 

HUMAN KINDNESS AND A SECRET PLACE

             

It just looked like a water fight as Daddy chased Mamma around the yard that day.  Vangie wasn’t sure if they were angry or not, but the creepy crawlies in her stomach told her this was not funny; so she was not running around laughing like the other girls were.  She could see just fine from her secret place.

 

Mamma should’ve just left Daddy alone about not going to church that Sunday.  But they were all ready to go except Daddy; and Mamma didn’t know how to drive.  Mamma was like that, though.  She didn’t leave you alone when you were trying to sleep.  If you couldn’t wake up because it was just so warm and cozy, she’d fix that by pulling the covers off.  It was funny for a while, watching Mamma try to shake Daddy awake.  Vangie and her sisters played along by calling out to him and pushing on him with their little hands; but he just smiled and rolled over.  He wasn’t budging.

 

       Pretty soon, Mamma started getting mad.  That was usually when things stopped being funny; because when Mamma got mad, she wouldn’t quit until Daddy got mad.  When hollering, pulling his hair, and even pinching him didn’t work, Mamma left the room and came back carrying a cup of water.   She was gonna throw it on Daddy if he didn’t wake up.  Daddy said that was it.  He was NOT getting up, and he was NOT driving them to church.  He said if Mamma poured that water on him, he was gonna get out of bed and throw a whole bucket of water on Mamma.   He meant it too.  Daddy always meant what he said.  Mamma STILL didn’t seem to realize that.

 

       Well, she poured that cup of water on him anyway, of course.  Now, from her secret place, Vangie watched Daddy drop the empty bucket to the ground and stomp back into the house.  Mamma just sat there in the grass soaked from head to toe crying and screaming at Daddy’s back.

                                                                               ---

 

       Eva Ross had never been a cussing woman, but the strain of the past year had her wound so tightly that four letter words seemed to pass much too readily through her mind, if not over her lips.  Plus, the crowded stores and holiday traffic were getting worse every year.  It took her way too long to pick up just a few groceries, because people seemed to not be aware that anyone else existed.  Eva knew it was pretty much the opposite of “Christmas spirit,” but she couldn’t help fantasizing about ramming carts and verbally chastising thoughtless people for not having the courtesy to let others get past them.  Now she had sat at this same intersection through three light changes.

 

       Maybe if she and John were not in such bad financial shape this year, she might be a bit more “jolly.”  As it was, the winter bills weren’t all getting paid, and the credit cards balances were overwhelmingly high; so Eva was very aware that every dime she spent—even on necessities—was digging the hole deeper.  There was no way that she was going to add to the strain by wasting money (or energy for that matter) on decorations, gifts, and dinners with “all the trimmings”.

 

Eva was beginning to resent the whole thing really.  As far as most people seemed to be concerned, Christmas had almost nothing to do with the birth of Jesus anymore.  It now seemed to be all about spending money.  To Eva, it seemed pointless to spend a few weeks pretending that life was grand and money was in abundance when the following January would bring reality crashing in.  She and John would celebrate the birth of Christ by participating in the church musical, sending a few greeting cards, and by bringing a covered dish to the family dinners.  This year, if they couldn’t make it or bake it, they weren’t giving it.

 

       Eva backed the Ford Explorer into the lower level of their latest remodeling project and pulled the bay door down, closing out the hustle and bustle of the small southern Ohio town.  The high pitched squeak of the door catch sliding to was like fingernails on a chalkboard and should have been extremely irritating; but instead, it brought a satisfying sigh from Eva.  She was home. 

 

       As she was accustomed to doing before climbing the stairs to the second floor apartment, Eva stood--plastic grocery bags dangling from her fingers--and let her gaze travel around the large unfinished garage level.  She loved this old building.  It had been a tremendous amount of work, and a lot of women would balk about living in an unfinished commercial building; but Eva and John preferred the historical and the “different.” 

 

       Now Eva didn’t know how long they could hold onto it.  The tear-out took much longer than anticipated, it just being the two of them; and they tore out a lot more than they originally planned, making the cost factor considerably higher.  If they didn’t find a bank willing to give them a mortgage soon, they would have no choice but to sell their project prematurely and—no doubt—at a loss.  She and John invested everything into this place hoping to turn their financial situation around.  Now it looked as if that was the very thing that was going to finish them off.

 

---

 

       Vangie loved playing pretend grocery store in her kindergarten classroom.  There was a little push cart and shelves with cans and boxes of food.  There was even a pretend cash register.  It was a little scary being away from Mamma and the girls, but Miss Roser was nice.  The other kids didn’t seem too friendly, but that was alright.  Vangie didn’t mind playing by herself.

 

       Vangie’s favorite thing of all about school was when they brought in the trampoline.  She loved jumping high and landing on her bottom and then back up on her feet.  She was pretty good at it too; Miss Roser said so.  Vangie liked hearing nice things said about her.  Like when Miss Roser told her how pretty she was in the snowflake costume for the school play last week.  It was a beautiful white dress with silver trim.  Vangie felt like a princess that night because Mamma washed and brushed her hair, and she had on as nice a dress as any of the other girls.  Oh how Vangie wanted to keep that dress, but whoever made it took it back right after the play.

 

       There was a knock on the classroom door, but Vangie didn’t pay much attention until she heard her name called.  When she looked up, she saw the school principal, Mrs. Back, standing at the door motioning to her.  Vangie hadn’t been in school very long, but she knew that when the principal wanted to talk to you, it meant you were in trouble.  She felt the creepy crawlies in her stomach as she slowly followed Mrs. Back into the hallway.

 

       Standing there waiting for her with smiles on their faces were Vangie’s two older sisters, Margaret and Jean. 

 

        “Guess what?”  Margaret said to Vangie.  “Mrs. Back’s taking us to buy us new shoes.”

 

        “Just us?”  Vangie whispered as they climbed into the back seat of Mrs. Back’s car.

 

       “I guess so.”  Margaret answered.

 

       “Why?”  Vangie asked. 

 

       “I don’t know."  Margaret said.  "I guess they know we need them; and they just want to be nice."

 

       “What about Sara?”  Vangie asked of her youngest sister.

 

       “I don’t know.  I guess she’s not big enough yet to need good shoes.

 

       “Do Mamma and Daddy know?”  Vangie asked.  She wondered if her parents would be mad or embarrassed about somebody else buying their kids shoes.

 

       “I guess so.  Anyway, don’t say anything about it or Mrs. Back might change her mind.  Just don’t say anything but ‘thank you’.”

 

---

 

       When Eva entered the cafeteria, she saw her mother smile and felt a satisfied warmth.  Her mother seemed to be coming back.  She was walking a little each day and was having less trouble feeding herself.  Eva felt responsible for the four months her mother, Linda, had lost.  It was Linda’s irrational fears of other residents and strange observations to staff that resulted in her being put on what Eva thought was an anti-depressant.  But Eva and her sisters put too much of the responsibility for their mother’s care into the hands of others; so none of them paid close enough attention to what that medicine was and what it was supposed to accomplish.

 

       At first, when Linda became very weak and dazed, Eva and her sisters believed it was the natural course of life; and they began preparing themselves for their mother’s inevitable passing.  Linda’s extremely sleepy behavior continued to nag at Eva, though, until she did an internet search on the new medicine.  What she read convinced her that it was the drug—actually an anti-psychotic—that was causing the deterioration.  Over the next few months, at Eva’s repeated requests, Linda was weaned off the medicine.  With each reduction, Linda’s alertness and motor skills improved; but Eva feared that her mother would never fully recover the muscle strength she lost in those months of limited mobility.

 

       Eva’s frequent visits to the rest home originated from a desire to show Linda that she would not be abandoned as many other residents seem to be; but Eva came to enjoy the time out of her stressful life.  Whenever she passed through those doors, Eva could turn off her cell phone and forget about her financial woes, because it was a different world inside those walls.  The residents didn’t need to look into worried eyes.  What they needed were smiles and attention.  When she was young, Eva often wanted to be a teacher, or entertainer, or even a mother; but she didn’t accomplish any of those things.  She was pleasantly surprised to find that the sparkling eyes and happy smiles of the residents who responded to her satisfactorily tickled her nurturing and entertaining fancy.

 

       “Hello, Ladies” Eva called to each table as she passed. 

 

       “There she is!”  called Leah who, except for her crippled state, would no doubt still be living on her own. 

 

        “Boogieman!”  called Alice for some as yet unknown reason as she held out her hand for Eva to “high five on the side”.

 

       Margene or “Marge” just giggled a ‘hello’ and continued to make the constant false teeth clicking sound that the staff probably heard in their sleep.

 

       “I love you.”  Linda said as Eva kissed her mother on the cheek. 

 

---

 

       Vangie looked in disbelief at the strangers in her living room.  “Santa Claus isn’t real.”  she told them.  Other kids believed in Santa Claus because their parents pretended that was who gave them Christmas presents if they were good.  Vangie knew that wasn’t true, though, because Mamma and Daddy said so.  Vangie and her sisters were good little girls.  They just didn’t get presents because Mamma and Daddy couldn’t afford them.   Vangie never did understand the whole “Santa Claus” thing anyway.  Getting presents from anybody would be nice, so why did people have to go making up some pretend guy?

 

       Now here these people were telling her that Santa Claus was gonna buy her anything she picked out of this magazine; and there Mamma was NOT telling them they were crazy.  Vangie tried a few more times telling them they could stop pretending; but they weren’t gonna leave her alone until she played along.

 

       “Well, I don’t believe you” she said “but I guess if I was gonna pick ‘anything’ it would be this.”  She pointed to a stand-up chalkboard that came with chalk and magnetic letters and numbers.  It was really big, and Vangie thought it looked like a lot of fun; but she knew they wouldn’t buy her something that expensive.  They were just teasing.

 

       As she left the room, she said once more for her six-year-old pride’s sake.  “But I don’t believe you.”

 

---

 

       Eva recognized the two suitcases sitting outside the front entrance of the library.  That old guy must be in there somewhere.  Eva and John had seen him several times since moving to Jonesboro, and they expressed to each other surprise that there was a homeless person so small of a town.  Each time she saw the old guy, Eva felt a tug of compassion and guilt; but her nervousness at approaching a stranger always stopped her. 

 

       After parking, Eva rounded the corner of the library and stopped short.  The old guy was out there going through one of his suitcases.  He hadn’t seen her yet, and she thought about going to another entrance.  Then, remembering the residents at her mother’s rest home, she quelled her discomfort with the realization that he was still a person entitled to the same courtesies as anyone else--including the benefit of the doubt.

 

        “Hello” Eva offered pleasantly.

 

       “Good evening” he answered in a strong confident tone.

 

       At that, Eva was even more curious about the man, but she lacked the courage to get personal; so she went on in and set about her library business.  When a familiar librarian passed by, Eva stopped her.

 

       “Excuse me.  I was wondering if you know anything about that older gentleman who was just in here.  He kind of looks homeless.  Do you know if he is?”

 

       “Oh, George?  Yes he considers himself homeless.”

 

       That was an odd response, but Eva didn’t ask for elaboration.

 

       “It’s pretty cold out there.  Do you know if he has some place to go at night?  I mean surely there is a homeless shelter or something in town.  I’ve been thinking I should offer to fill out some paperwork or something if he needs help.”

 

       “He has family; and there is a homeless shelter here in town, but he doesn’t spend any more time at either place than he absolutely has to; because they have rules that he doesn’t care to follow.”

 

       The librarian seemed to know more than she was comfortable talking about.  Eva had expected to receive a pleasant smile and a compliment for her concern.  Instead, the librarian seemed to be warning her to keep her distance.

 

        “I can tell you for sure that he would not welcome any attention.  He has good days when he’ll talk, but on other days, he can be pretty belligerent.”  

 

       “Okay.”  Eva said.  “Thanks for the advice.” 

 

       As Eva drove home, she wondered why George would CHOOSE to pull a suitcase around all day and sleep on the bench in front of the courthouse when there was someplace he could go.

 

---

 

       Vangie sat nervously on the man’s knee as he asked whether or not she was a good girl.  How was she supposed to answer a question like that?  If she said “yes” that would be bragging.  But if she said “no” the man might not let her have one of the Christmas presents that his helper was passing out to all the kids who had been brought to this party.

 

       “I guess so”, she answered cautiously; and then she was on her feet moving toward the biggest gift on the stage.   When Vangie tore back the paper, she found the very chalkboard that she picked out of the magazine that day in her living room.  So those people weren’t just teasing her.  She looked back at the man in the Santa Claus costume.   She knew he wasn’t real; but in a way, Santa Claus DID give her what she asked for, just like they promised.

 

---

 

       It was the coldest night so far that year.  The wind was blustery, and a freezing rain fell on the windshield as they drove through town.  Still, Eva was elated. 

 

       She and John decided weeks earlier that it made more sense for him get another job instead of Eva getting one.  Their real estate appraisal business was slow, but it was still enough to justify her staying with it.  John had been applying for jobs for several weeks with no results.  That evening, during the church service, Eva said a fervent prayer that God would show his will to John and give him the wisdom and courage to follow it.  Immediately after the service, one of the men asked to speak with John and offered him a very good job, which John accepted.  It wouldn’t mean an immediate financial turn-around, but it was a very good start.

 

       Eva was still smiling about the new possibilities when she saw George standing in an outdoor bank alcove, one hand pulling his jacket collar tight around his throat and the other hand resting on his suitcase.  She leaned her head on the frosty window and sighed sadly.

 

---

 

       Vangie lay on her back in the soft grass enjoying the beautiful sky.  The brilliant clouds were so well defined, they seemed solid enough to sit on if one could get up there.  The air temperature was perfect with a slight breeze every few minutes.  Vangie had enjoyed roaming the fields and woods on her grandmother’s farm for nearly half of her sixteen years; but this was her favorite spot.  Below ground level, lying on a grassy ledge available only when the creek was down for a while, Vangie marveled at the thought that at that precise moment, nobody in the entire world knew where she was except for herself and God.

  

She ran her fingers gently through the cool stream.  This was so much more peaceful than listening to Mamma and Daddy fighting.  Sometimes she thought those two were actually TRYING to drive her crazy.

 

---

 

Eva knocked on the old wooden door and smiled at the familiar curls and scrollwork.  The latest owners had stripped the old paint and recoated it with polyurethane; but she could tell it was the same door.  Eva had been called upon to provide a value estimate on the old house that had been HER home many years earlier.  She often thought that she and John might be the ones to buy and renovate that old house; but someone else beat them to it.  The wood floors and the doors and trim had all been stripped and refinished.  The old wallpaper—no doubt littered with her very own pencil drawings—had been removed and the walls painted.  Modern kitchen cabinetry had been installed along with an actual indoor bathroom.  There were new windows, a furnace, vinyl siding, and a new roof.  Virtually every surface had been given a “face life,” but it was still the house that Eva remembered.  It was Vangie’s first home.

  

       After nearly 30 years, almost every corner still unfolded a memory for Evangeline Ross.  As she toured her childhood home with its new owners, she alternated professional questions with comments like “This is where I learned to tie my shoes” and “This is where we bathed in a metal tub with water heated on the stove.”

 

       “I’m sorry to go on and on.”  Eva offered near the end.  “This place just brings back so many memories for me.

 

       “Don’t be sorry.  We’re enjoying it.” the young couple assured.  “What do you remember about this room?”

 

       Eva’s eyes panned the living room.  Many good memories had come back to her that day, but the one most special to her happened in that room. 

 

       “Here,” she told her new friends “is where, one Christmas, some strangers showed me a magazine full of toys and promised me that Santa Claus would buy me whatever I pointed to.  I didn’t believe them; but I played along anyway.  I didn’t believe in Santa Claus and I, certainly, didn’t believe that people would buy presents for some children that they didn’t even know.  They did, though.  They bought me exactly what I picked out.”

 

       “Well, how nice!”  The young couple said.

 

       “Yes, it was.”  Evangeline said as she smiled thoughtfully.  “I can’t say that it made me believe in Santa Claus; but it did make me believe in human kindness.”

 

       Before she left that day, Evangeline stood in the back yard of her childhood home and took it all in.  Some of the old outbuildings were gone, but a grass-forsaken patch of oily earth clearly marked where Daddy’s garage had been.  At its southwest corner was an overgrown spot beneath two mature trees.  Eva had almost forgotten her first “secret place”.  In the summertimes of her childhood, the coal pile was reduced to small pebbles, but it was enough to stop the growth of any tall grass.  The resulting cubby was the first of many “secret places” that had provided sanctuary in the unsettling times of her life--places of her own choosing where she could be alone and in control of her emotions and her destiny.

 

       Suddenly, Eva thought of her mother in a crowded rest home and felt a pang of remorse.  Next, she thought of an old homeless guy named George and believed that she understood him a bit more.  Finally—and for some time—she thought about human kindness.

 

---

 

       Eva looked out the window at the falling snow.  The blinking Christmas lights lining the window made it hard to see out; so she returned to the carol singing with her residents.  She had been through almost three years of research, paperwork, and sleepless nights—not to mention soul searching and administrative training; but it had paid off.  With the help of a government grant, the first level of her and John’s building had been transformed into a small assisted-living home.  There weren’t a lot of residents, but each one had a private room and bath.  Eva had been able to hire a few staff members to help with the cooking, cleaning, and other care; but the entertainment was all Eva.

 

       The party was going well.  Margaret, Jean, and Sara had all come with their families to visit with Mamma, who had—of course—been Eva’s first official resident.  Eva's dad was even there to see them all; and he and Mamma still called each other "Honey" even though they'd been divorced for years.  Everyone had already eaten a traditional Christmas meal with “all the trimmings;” and after the caroling, Eva had gifts for them all.

 

       Glancing out the window once more, Eva wondered if George was okay out there.  She had designed a small room at the back of the building with a private entrance; and she had extended numerous invitations to George; but as yet, he had not taken her up on it.  But maybe someday.

 

       Eva pondered for a moment the numerous snowflakes, each with their own unique design.  Then she turned and glanced around the room at the smiling faces of her residents and family.  She and hers had been blessed in so many ways.  Reaching down, she picked up one of Sara’s beautiful daughters.  As the tiny arms wrapped around her neck, Eva closed her eyes and breathed the child in.