Hope

A little girl's brother dies, but she learns to find hope and be happy.

I was under an oak tree sorting my rock specimens and he was trying to cast the fishing pole Dad had given him, his legs just stubs and the expression on his face hysterical.  He struggled with the weight of the pole while the line got tangled around his feet.

“Watch out, Bubba. The hook’s gonna getcha!”  I warned.

When he pivoted around to look at me, he slipped in the mud, fell on his bottom and started wailing.

There had not been a cloud in the sky all day, only the giant sun that had prompted me to sit in the alcove of exposed roots at the bottom of the shade tree.  But as I got up to run to my little brother, I noticed the sky darkening. 

“No Bubba, don’t cry!” I said as I picked him up to rest on my hip.  He still had so much baby fat I nearly dropped him.  I brushed the dirt off his pants, murmuring, “For Pete’s sake Bubba, ya gotch yer britches all muddy.”

And then he started laughing.  He started laughing that adorable baby laugh you could just eat up for dinner, especially since it was served up on a platter of rosy cheeks and an almost toothless grin.  His sparkling green eyes beamed at me.  I grabbed his fat cheeks and wiggled them around.  He laughed harder, and I joined in and we both chortled until we were both out of breath. 

As we played, the clouds swelled in front of the sun, heavy with rain. When they began to leak, we considered going back into the house.  But when they finally broke over us, we just ran into the field to get soaked, acting like birds soaring through the rain.  He always followed his big sister.

But all the comfort and levity of that morning is nowhere near me now, as I climb up the hill to his grave.  I must give him something, soon.

By the time I get to the top I’m drenched with rain and my hair is plastered to my face.  At least it wasn’t nighttime.  I would hate for this cemetery to be a maze in the dark of night.  Darkness means getting lost and, even in a metaphorical way, that scares me.

I set the memento in front of the grave and sit down.  The trip around the neighborhood, across the street, through the forest and up the hill has worn me out.  I lay on the muddy earth, refusing to sob until I die.  I can’t do that here.

I read the gravestone, but can’t bear to read the last line aloud.  I recite in my head, “Brother of…me.”   

I can’t help but let a river of tears run down my face, masked by the rain.  I don’t make a sound- the days of crying out loud are behind me- but I do cry real tears, tears for my poor brother.

Suddenly, a very odd feeling hits my heart, brain and entire soul- a very surprising feeling, which doesn’t make sense, but I feel it:  anger.  I feel anger at my parents, anger at the doctors, anger at cancer and now, I am really depressed. 

Suddenly, my best friend Bairn arrives with an umbrella clenched between his hands.  He’s dressed in an old sweater and sweatpants, so I assume he saw me through his window on my way to the forest.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, hey Bairn,” I quietly reply.  “I’m just giving him this picture.  It’s our pond in Texas, our favorite place.  He had told me to put this picture by his grave within the week of his death.”  I let out a small chuckle.  “I had five minutes until I’d passed the deadline.”  Then my mood is gloomy.  “Too bad I had to live up to the promise so soon.”

“I know you’re sad,” Bairn offered.  “Just find hope. Remember?  That’s what he always said.”  He gives me a smile and I just have to cheer up.  But I can’t.  I can’t seem to find hope so I yell at my friend.

“It’s my fault! I couldn’t help him when he was sick!”

“Of course you couldn’t, the doctors couldn’t.”

“It’s just not fair!”  I scream, hearing the sound of my own raised voice echo around the graveyard.  I replace my fury with sadness and my shouts with sobs.  But now, I’m weak and the walk back home seems impossible.  Bairn picks me up from my lethargic stance and carries me all the way down the hill, through the forest and across the neighborhood.  By the time we get to my doorstep, the rain is gone, Bairn is heaving, and I am ready for bed.  So I thank Bairn for his kindness and go inside.  Soon, I’m sleeping and I dream of happy things for the first time in years, perhaps finding hope.

Two years later, instead of sobbing in the rain, I’m actually giddy as I watch it splatter up from the highway, on my way to the hospital.

When we arrive at the room, I don’t cry tears of happiness.  I don’t jump for joy.  I just look at the newborn baby girl.  I look at my new little sister and her literally shimmering green eyes.  In them I see something.  I also hear it in the rain.  I smelled before in the grass of the field.  I tasted it in the moist air.  I feel it now, in my baby sister’s pearly, smooth, warm skin.

Hope.

Author's Note

It's an old submission for The Betty Award, which is a great children's writing contest

Reviews

[writingcrazy55555]

I LOVE this story! It actually gave me goosebumps! What a great sense of imagery! You truly have a gift for storytelling! Keep writing, you were born to do it!

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

I was very touched by your story. It was well written and easy to follow. You expressed yourself very well, and gave me a reason to feel hopeful at the end. I hope that this did not happen to you, and that it is a work of fiction. Good title.

[J. F. Charleston]

Really this is a very touching story. I've read others and some don't have this good of imagery either. I'm very surprised how a young writer as yourself has this wide vocabulary and accurately useing it very well.

[C.A. Lucas]

thank you so much. you have great feedback