Chp 1-4

Chapter 1

The seventh month of that year crept in and I was but ten years of age. I remember the dread I had come to feel for each coming of a summer. Unlike most children my age I had no interest in engorging myself with the fiascos called ‘play’ nor tempt myself with the whimsical audacity of youth.

Like most days in the month of July, the air was stiff, and the heat rapid, but the spirits of the people whom dwelled in my small hometown of Bucklin, remained profound and lifted by the infectious benevolence of the season.

I had not always shied away from youthful play as I had come to do in my tenth year. In fact, in my youngest days one would have found it difficult to find a day when I wasn’t in high spirits and partaking in the traditional pastimes of a small child.

My old home town of Bucklin was a close-knit town, its people acted as if they are all related to one and another. The town of Bucklin itself was a town built amid a lush forest of old trees and blue creeks that flow gently in the summer and freeze in the winter.

The untouched forest bordering the entire circumference of the town serves as a kind of wall, and its vast labyrinth of countless trees created a mystical world of its own. The thick cluster of trees forbids the sun passage to the ground. When you walked through the shadowy forest your every step was sounded by the loud crunch of the golden leaves that topped the ground.

To this day, you will come across old forts and collapsing tree-houses that had been built by previous generations of the town’s youth. Where ever you were in the forest you were always accompanied by the wildlife that inhabited it. Large flocks of birds dashed from trees; rabbits would dart frantically across your path as if intentionally trying startle you.

The most perturbing of the forests residents were, however, the animals you couldn’t see and couldn’t hear. Those very animals are the ones that crept into the town at night and snatched chickens from farmers, sleeping dogs from porches, and struck fear into the children who dared to venture in the forest after dusk. Traps were set by farmers and mourning dog-owners in an effort to put an end to the vicious sprees, but I don’t think any did ever succeed in doing so.

The businesses in Bucklin provided its town folk with the essentials to live and little more. If you were in dire need of something that the town could not provide, you had to either travel a great distance to retrieve it, or, learn to live without it�"most lived without it.

I was born in Bucklin, and it was there I lived for my first eleven years, not necessarily by choice though. Maybe it was my nature or perhaps it was my short attention span, but unlike most kids my age in Bucklin I found it nearly impossible to occupy myself in the unadorned town. Instead I sought the wonder of the outside world and all the marvels that hid within the immense forest.

Once I found myself to be tall enough to scale the rotting fence that surrounded my home, I would do so every day. When free from the confinement of my backyard I would quickly make my way into the forest and become lost in the spectacle.

 It was there that I spent most of my summer days either floating carelessly down creaks; trying to rebuild the abandoned forts and tree-houses; or creating makeshift weapons and booby-traps in hopes of capturing a wild animal.

Once my fellow rebellious young friends grew tall enough to escape the walls of their backyard they took to joining me in my adventures.

One day while chasing my neighbor’s dog around the dirt patch that divided their house from mine, their son, Harvey Fitz, came to me and told me to stop such foolish play. I was frozen at once by his commands, for he was twice my age and three times my size.

“Stop all that there silly playing! Your ruckus is makin’ it so I can’t hear a thought in my head!” He barked at me.

My thrill came to an abrupt halt, and I stared up at Hervey with displeasure and said, “I’s just trying to catch your dog, didn’t mean no harm”

“Well he’s my dog ‘n’ I don’t want you chasing him! Ya hear?” Hervey insisted. “Go find yourself somethin’ else to do that don’t involve pestering me!”

“Like what?”

“Do I look like some sorta babysitter or something?�"Actually, hold on one sec’, you wanna hear a secret?”

“Sure!” I said eagerly.

“Well, I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ you this because I wanted it all for myself, but I’m busy nowadays and since I’m a nice guy, so I suppose I will”

“Shouldn’t be tellin’ me what?” I asked.

“Well, alright,” He lowered his voice and looked side-to-side to see who else was around. “So you know who Mr. Odswell is?

“Nope”

“Well, Mr. Odswell was this rich old feller that use to live in this here town, he had no family or nothin’ but he owned a great lot of gold that he just kept hidden away in his house, but�"” Harvey paused and checked his sides again. “�"but he ended up bein’ all crazy in the head from the war so he went ‘n’ hung himself from the tree outside his house! When the police showed up to deal with that ‘n’ collect all his belongings they found no gold, only a letter that said he had buried all his gold somewhere deep in that forest ‘cause he didn’t want no one having it!”

I gasped, by this point in Harvey’s tale I had become completely enthralled; staring wide eyed with a drooping lower lip.

He continued: “People’s searched the forest for it but ain’t no one’s ever found it, so it’s still out there I reckon!”

“Well where is it!” I asked enthusiastically.

“Hush up that loud voice! I don’t know where exactly it is, but here’s the deal: since I went ahead ‘n’ told you ‘bout all this stuff if you find it you gotta spilt it with me fifty-fifty, okay?”

“fifty-fifty?”

“Yep, fifty-fifty! It’s only fair!”

“Alright, alright, fifty-fifty then!” I agreed.

And so begun my quest for the great Odswell treasure. A few of my most trusted companions and I set out to make the great discovery. My partners were far from the most intelligent of kids, and so I promised each of them two dollars from the treasure once it was found.

Together we took to digging in the hills and ground until our hands were stained with the earth’s soil. We climbed the trees to dangerous heights for a better perspective on our surroundings. The bottom of every creek was searched, and every mound of rocks was moved.

Each day before the sun was barely below the nearest mountain, we found our search to be interrupted by the overly protective parents of my employed help. They would run home to the calls of their mothers, while I would stay behind in the forest to continue my search until the darkness proved itself too hindering.

Never was I summoned by the call of my Ma; I doubted she even took much notice to my absence at all.

The faint specks of moonlight that fought its way through the dense trees did little to aid my trek back through the forest. When finally I managed to return home I would have to climb up the side of my house and into my bedroom window, because my Ma had already locked both the front and back door shut hours earlier.

That summer passed and the Odswell treasure went undiscovered yet again. When the colder seasons came, I spent most of my days in the solitude of my room. Seldom did I see my friends, as they had become engaged in the first grade of schooling. I, on the other hand, was not made to attend school by my Ma, she felt as though schooling was unnecessary for me because I would, without a doubt, end up working at the town lumbering mill, just as my father had done before me, and his father before him�"and an education was not needed for success in such a laborious career.

The school year ended in what felt like an eternity, and my friends returned to me. They had, however, lost interest in finding the Odswell treasure, so instead we spent that summer roaming the usual paths and swimming in the same creeks.

I felt slightly detached from my friends and like somewhat of an outsider when they would reminisce of the previous school year; which is why as the summer drew to an end I implored my Ma to let me attend the second grade of school. And though seeming hesitant at first, she eventually conceded to my pleads and agreed that I could attend public school, saying that having me out of the house for hours each day would be a welcomed break for her.

The second grade came and went with little excitement, and though it was not all I had hoped it would be, it was far better than watching the rain patter against my bedroom window.

            Something very peculiar had happened that next summer. The company of the boys who I had once spent every day with no longer seemed as attractive when compared to the girls I saw jumping rope on the sidewalk or running around, giggling as they chased each other in their flowery dresses. While this change of heart was indeed natural, it was deemed odd by my fellow males, who had yet to encounter such sentiments for the opposite sex.

            There was one girl who was a grade lower then I, her name was Emily Keller and she lived directly next door to me. I had seen her next door my entire life, but I never paid her any mind. She was a girl who played with dolls and wore dresses and I was a boy who dug in the mud and chased snakes.

            Emily was a very pretty girl, as far as eight year olds go. Though her face was mature beyond her young age. She was slightly taller then I, and had a very slender body. Her hair was mostly brown with shades of blonde swirled within. Her eyes matched a summer sky, her skin was fair and her face was somewhat narrow with high cheek bones that glowed with a natural blush. Her hair was usually kept in pigtails, but when down it bounced with a tangle of curls. Her lips were narrow but her smile large, I think she tried to avoid smiling in a self-conscience effort to hide her missing baby teeth.

            Now infatuated by my young neighbor, I took it upon myself to introduce myself to her.

“Hi” I said, as I leaned against the large oak tree beside her front yard.

“Hi” she replied.

“I’m Bobby”

“I know” she said, seeming completely uninterested in my presence.

“You know?”

“Yeah, I know”

“How you know?”

“You live right next to me, of course”

“Oh…” I felted embarrassed now, I regretted ever approaching Emily, and I felt the urge to walk away and never say another word to the uncongenial girl again. I turned to walk away but was called back when Emily said, “Do you like apples?”

“Not really, they’re kinda icky” I dismissed.

“Oh… ‘cause I got a buncha apples in my house, you coulda had one if you wanted”

“I like apples!” I said, changing my previous opinion.

“Want one? Me and my mommy picked ‘em ourself earlier today”

“Sure, I’d like an apple”

Emily led me into her house and towards her kitchen. On the kitchen table I saw a large bowl filled with freshly picked red apples. I had been in the houses of others many times before, but I felt abnormally uneasy standing in Emily’s kitchen as she went to grab an apple from the big bowl.

“Here you go” she said, handing me an apple.

“Thanks”

I bit into my apple and it churched loudly, I hadn’t actually eaten an apple in at least two summers, and I had nearly forgotten how much I disliked them. At my second bite I noticed Emily staring at me with a bewildered look on her face. “Ain’t you gonna wash it off?” she asked.

“Oh, oh yeah” I said, embarrassed once again.

I took a step towards the kitchen sink but Emily told me not to bother, because it was too late now that I had already started eating the apple.

“You can sit down if you wanna” she offered�"and so I did.

The wooden chair I sat in seemed curiously large, or perhaps other chairs I’d sat in had always just been bizarrely small.

“Aren’t you gonna have an apple?” I asked.

“No, I don’t like apples much”

Oh what a fool I was.

Emily sat with her feet dangling from the large wooden chair beside me and stared at as I took another unpleasant bite of the apple. The kitchen in Emily’s house seemed nicely kept. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, the floor shined (except for the dirt my shoes had left). There were a few old photographs hanging from the wall above the table I sat at and the walls looked as though they had just received a fresh coat of yellow paint.

I knew at once I could never have Emily over at my house, because I would have felt too much shame in having her see the dirty dishes that filled the sink, the permanently stained floor, and the peeling wall paper.

            I was nearly finished with my apple when I heard the front door creak open and close shut.

“Are you in here, Emily?” I head a man’s voice call out.

“In here daddy!”

I turned my head to meet her father as he walked into the kitchen. Her father, Mr. Keller, was tall and slender man. He wore narrow glasses that lifted from his face by his thick, gray eyebrows. He was a clean shaved man but face seemed aged well past its actual years. I could tell Emily had gotten her bright blue eyes from her father. Although his age exceeded no more than forty years, my youth deemed him old.

“Do you know where your mother…Oh, I see we have a guest!” Mr. Keller said walking into the kitchen. “You’re the Hudson boy who lives next door are you not?”

“Yes Sir, I am”

“Bobby, right?”

“Yes, Sir”

“Well it’s nice to have you hear son, My name is Mr. Keller” He said. “I don’t think we have ever formally met”

I shook Mr. Keller’s extended hand�"it was calloused and as wide as a bed post.

“It’s a shame I don’t see your mother out much these days�"how is she and your brother doing?”

“Fine I suppose, Sir”

“I’m glad to hear that. Oh, and don’t worry about calling me ‘Sir’, Mr. Keller or Henry will do, son”

I nodded and nervously took another bite of my browning apple.

“Now, Emily, do you know where your mother is by chance? I can’t seem to fine her”

“She went over to them Williams family’s house”

I couldn’t help but notice the vast difference in accents between Emily and her father. She spoke with the same accent every person in Bucklin did. Her father’s, however, was not at all southern like I’d been come accustomed to in Bucklin.

“I’ll be in my den; when your mother comes back from the Williams’, please tell her I need to speak with her”

“Yes, daddy”

“It was nice to properly meet you Bobby, give my regards to your mother and brother” Mr. Keller nodded his head and left the room.

“My daddy likes you” Emily said.

“How can ya’ tell?”

“’Cause I can just tell them sorta things. So hold on a sec, you ain’t got no pa’, just a Ma?”

“Yep” I answered, looking for a place to toss my apple core.

“Just toss that in that there trash. So then where is your father at? Did he die in the war?”

“Nope, he left when I was little, don’t ‘member him much”

“You’re still little” Emily said sarcastically.

“I ain’t as little as you!” I snipped back.

“Right you ain’t, your littler then me!”

Emily smiled softly, but I did not. I stood from my chair and went to toss my apple core in the trashcan Emily had pointed out to me.

“So you got a brother too? How come I ain’t never seen him” Emily asked.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions, dontcha!”

“I’s just wondering, that’s all”

“Well, wonder something else!”       

            I left Emily’s house shortly after because she had to do her chores and prepare her outfit for Sunday-school the next morning. Before I left she invited me to come over to her house the following afternoon to play.

            I returned to Emily’s the next day, and then the following day as well and so forth after that. My previous playmates became envious of my new friend as they too began to take interest in such things. Eventually the play that was available to Emily and I within the limitations of her front yard grew dull and though at first apprehensive Emily agreed to follow me into the forest where I promised was a place of great wonder and amusement.

            Summer went by with a very routine daily pattern; that pattern being: Emily and I would roam the woods in search of something unknown, chase the deer and rabbits, competitively skip stones in the ponds and then together we would end each day by climbing to the tallest branch of a large tree and watching yellow sun set below the crest of the hilltops. When she was called home by her mother, I would escort her back through the woods to ensure her safekeeping.

            Her parents began to take quite the liking to me. When Emily and I would stop on her front porch to bid each other farewell for the night, her mother would always pop her head out of the screendoor and ask if I would like to join them all for dinner. Most evenings I would excuse myself from her mother’s offering, not wanting to seem overly attached.

            I had no real concept of what I felt for Emily; but I did know that those days spent with Emily were some of my finest, and as I exhausted each day roaming the woods or skipping rocks with her, the idea of doing so with any other seemed of the most unappealing.

            The third-grade of my schooling came with a harsh winter that left the people of Bucklin distraught by its bane. The town’s men struggled to keep the lives of their families in order through the bleak temperatures; faltering crops; and severely relentless snow. All of which made a lax winter lifestyle in Bucklin an impossible memory from the past. The elderly and ill suffered the greatest of any. If they did not die during the cruel months, their health was pushed to the brink, and made to endure little longer.

            The things I remember most about that unforgiving winter are the cold temperatures and the constant snow that fell from the sky like chunks of ash from a burning heaven. Kids couldn’t play outdoors because mothers feared they would get frostbite, or some other temperature afflicted ailment.

            The snow piled high in the town and made travel a tedious task. I spent a large portion of the third-grade watching the snow fall through my bedroom window. School was either canceled or I could not attend. Being the only able bodied male in the house it was my assumed job to shovel the snow from the front of my house. Being I was young and small, my body could not tolerate the labor for long.

            On some occasions as I would toil in the snow, Mr. Keller would be doing the same in the yard across from me. He would usually offer assistance with my struggle, and I would humbly accept. Because of the weather Emily rarely left her house, though I was often invited over for play and dinner.

            Emily and I sat in her living room playing a game of cards, her mother was in the kitchen preparing a dinner that smelled like ham, and the weather turned from rain to snow then back again. I was teaching Emily how to play poker and she was teaching me how to care more about the game, then winning it.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” She said to me as I dealt the cards

“Sure”

“Can I know ‘bout your family?”

“What’a’bout ‘em?” I said, examining my cards.

“Like, why doesn’t I see your Ma or brother ever?”

“‘Cause neither of ‘em like the cold very much, I suppose”

“But I never seen ‘em much, not even during the summer”

“They don’t care for the heat much either”

“My daddy told me that I shouldn’t ask questions ‘bout your Ma, whys that?”

“If your pa’ told you not to be askin’ questions, then why you sitting here askin’ me questions?”

“‘Cause I’m curious”

“‘bout?”

“What I don’t know ‘bout you”

I stared blankly at my cards, shuffling the same five around in my hands over, and over. Emily had yet to even touch her cards that I laid before her on the floor. I knew exactly what she was curious about, and what explanations she sought; but I just kept shuffling my cards.

“Listen, you gonna play this game o’ not?” I asked.

“In a minute” She said. “Why don’t your Ma ever come outside?”

“She just ain’t a people person, that’s why! Now play your cards!”

“Why ain’t she a people person?”

“How’s I suppose to know? She just ain’t!”

“What ‘bout your brother? Is he not a people person neither?”

“He ain’t ‘nuff a person to be not a people person!”

“Whatcha mean he ‘ain’t ‘nuff a person’?”

“I mean just what I said!”

“How ain’t he a person? Ain’t he older then you?”

“Are we gonna play, o’ is you gonna just sit here and ask me stuff all night?”

Emily grabbed her cards slowly and lowered her head, her eyes looked them over and with a dismal voice she said, “I’ll take two cards, please” extending her hand that held the two cards.

“Now Em’, you go and stop that right now!” I insisted.

“Stop what?” She asked lowly.

“That! Stop that there sad voice thing you doin’!”

“I don’t mean to sound sad Bobby, I really don’t. I just wish you’d trust me ‘nuff to tell me them sorta things ‘bout your ma and brother”

“I already told you, they don’t like people! Now, what else is there to know?”       

Both you two come in here and get some dinner, and Emily, you go fetch your pa’ and tell him to come eat too. Emily’s mother announced from the kitchen.

            That conversation on the floor of her living room was the last Emily asked of my home life, or at least until years later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

It was true what I told Emily that day on her living room floor: my Ma wasn’t one who cared much for the company of others. Most women in Bucklin shared in afternoon tea and lunch; they baked cakes and other deserts as kind presents from each other on birthdays or other holidays.

Mothers would stroll in packs of three or more, or sit on a bench and share gossip while watching their children scamper around. But not my Ma, my Ma was the topic of those other women’s gossip.

            In Bucklin it was customary for the front doors of houses to be left open and the screen doors unlocked. Mothers and their children would randomly visit others’ houses solely to bid them good afternoon.

My house, on the other hand, was the source of countless pointed fingers and speculations. It was deemed odd by others that the front door to my house was never propped open welcomingly; the smell of fresh baked pie never carried out from the kitchen window; and the front yard was unkempt and left for years to wither away and to be made victim to weeds. 

            My Ma rarely left the home, and when she did it was an event that drew many eyes and whispers. Over the years the townspeople no long bothered to greet her when she would walk by. They would, instead, stare at her through the cover of their screen doors, or kitchen windows. Most thought my Ma to be unwell in the head, but she was not mentally inept. In fact, she was as insane as she was kind.

            I’m not sure whether or not my Ma had always been as petulant of a woman as she was when I was growing up. I believe part of her hostile nature can be contributed to my father’s departure.

Often did I hear talk between housewives regarding my Ma, “That Mrs. Hudson sure didn’t deal well with Mr. Hudson up and leaving her alone with them two kids” they’d say. “I think the poor woman’s gone and lost her mine ever sense her husband left her!”

            Being as young as I was when my father left spared me the burden of remembering him or mourning his absence. My Ma often claimed she was glad he left and that life was better without him, but there was something in the way she said such things that made me doubt the sincerity of her content.

            I was never told directly as to why my father left, but throughout my life I have managed to piece together a reasonable rationalization. A large part of his leaving was due to me, and my older brother Charlie.

Charlie was four years my senior, but his mind was many years younger than I. He was born with a rare birth defect that was a mystery to the medical world. His condition rendered his mind feeble and his body incompetent. The cause of his unusual condition was unknown and a cure nonexistent; I was lucky to be spared of the curse that damned my brother.

For both my Ma and father, becoming parents at a young age was of the most undesirable of occurrences. To them, the mere responsibility of caring for a normal child seemed well beyond their facility, but Charlie was far from being a normal child, and his condition required constant care and vigilance. My parents were strained by my brother’s needs; sleepless and poor they were indeed. Slowly conflict and unease distended between my parents, caused by the stress of their own child.

I was born into an unwelcoming family, and thought of as nothing but an unwanted addition to an already insurmountable accumulation of burdens. Unaware of the nuisance I was, I would cry when I was hungry or longed for attention. I would lie restlessly at night, disturbing others; and play loudly during the day.

My parents met no ease in the years that pasted. By the time Charlie was six years of age and I two, immutable resentment and discord had formed between our parents. It was not long before my Ma awoke one morning to discover herself alone with two crying children and a note that said farewell.

Something changed in my Ma after that day. I’m not sure if my father’s abandonment filled her with hatred, or sorrow. But whichever it was of the two, it caused my Ma to take shelter in the solitude of our home. She locked the door and lowered the blinds to ward off the townsfolk who thought it necessary to console her.

When my furthest memories begin; they begin with the image of my Ma rocking solemnly in a wooden rocking chair that sat in the living room of my home, beside the fireplace.

My Ma once told me that her father had built that chair himself long ago, and that as a young girl she would sit atop his leg as he rocked back and forward reading stories to her with a tobacco pipe hanging from his broad lower lip, that bounced with every word he read.

By the time the old chair had found its way into the living room of my home, it had gained a rather irksome squeak that could be heard as far as the front yard of the house. Often I would awake at night, caught in the lingering haze of a disturbed reverie, hearing what sounded to be the ominous howl of a fiend lurking within my house. I would fearfully clench my blankets until my uncertainties subsided and my mind became more conscious of the world.

In what seemed like a lifetime the austere winter that consumed the greater part of the third grade finally dwindled to bearably chilly spring days. Meaning, at long last Emily and I were able to return to our usual pastimes and enliven our youth.

Because Emily was one grade lower than me, I saw very little of her at school except for during recess and lunch. I quickly discovered boys in the third grade didn’t take kindly to another boy spending his valuable recess time with a cootie infested girl.

When the bell rang and we all made our way to return to our classes, I would be ridiculed by my callow classmates for not having spent my recess playing catch, or tossing around a football.

I remained ensconced in my daily ways despite the scorn I endured. I refused to change the happenings of my recesses merely to entertain the rudimentary opinions of others; and this stubbornness seemed to gravely bother the other boys.

There seemed to an established law on the school playground. That law being: if one boy did something the others didn’t approve of, after a few rounds of mocking, the judged boy would conform to the wishes of his mates.

I, though, defied the decree of my peers and insisted in spending my free time swinging and playing hopscotch with Emily. Douglas Crawford was a boy whose body matched the girth of the sixth graders, but his mental acuity the first graders. He was the son of Jack Crawford, the owner of a large chicken farm that resided on the outskirts of Bucklin.

Douglas was an inane brute who got his boorish nature from his father. In the minds of the Douglass: men were men; women were less; and blacks were n*****s. Not unlike his chicken-farming father, Douglas was the leader of a group of mindless lemmings who congregated around a large pine tree that stood in the middle of the school yard. Douglas and his gang would patrol the other kids. Steal balls that rolled their way, and yelling epithets at other children.

The ball Emily and I had been tossing back and forth during recess missed my hand and rolled into the territory of Douglas and his fools. I walked to receive my ball, but when I went I was met by two boys. One of the boys was Peter Haggard; Peter was a tall boy who had less meat on his bones then he did hair on his chin. I never saw an expression of any emotion on boney his face; his lips barely moved when he talked and his eyes seemed to never blink. He had no color to his skin, except for the tip of his nose that glowed red on cold days.

“This here your ba’?” Peter asked, tossing my ball lightly in the air then returning it to his hand.

“Sure is, hand it here” I said, extending my hand.

The other of the two boys who confronted me was Ronald Schramm. He stood four inches shorter then Peter and about twelve inches wider. Everything on Ronald’s face was large: from his brown eyes, to his mouth that drooped even when he was silent. Ronald cocked his head to the side and said, “I’nt know ‘bout that, I kinda like the looks of its”

“Jus’ give me the ball back!” I demanded. My fists half clenched, preparing for the two boys to pounce at me.

“What’s the ma-gic word?” Peter said.

“You’s wantin’ me to take it from you Rudolf?” I said boldly.

I heard a laugh from behind the two boys and then I saw Douglas Crawford emerge from behind Peter’s shoulder. He laughed again and said, “Ain’t it cute when a little feller, goes ‘n’ tries to act all tough?”

“Give it here!” I said again.

“What’s it worth to ya’?” Douglas asked. He had stepped in front of Peter and Ronald, and lowered his primitive brow towards me.

“Bobby, it don’t matter! Just let ‘em go ‘head and keep that ball!” Emily said. She was now standing directly behind me, tugging on the back of my shirt.

“I won’t! That’s my ball, and I want it back!”

“That’s right, do what ya’ little gal there said, go back to play’in your cute little girl games!” Douglas said mockingly.

I swatted Emily’s hand off the back of my shirt and stomped forward, saying, “I’ve had jus’ ‘bout ‘nuff you!”

“What you gonna do ‘bout it then?” Were the last words I heard from Douglas’s discourteous mouth before I took a swig towards his face. I remember the feeling of my fist striking firmly against his jaw.

I heard Emily crying out for me to stop, but soon her pleads changed to begging Douglas to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to me. My back was wet from the ground, and I was unable to pry open my instinctively shut eyes. I felt something heavy pressed against my chest, and I strained to draw oxygen into my lungs. The exact details of what transpired next remains nebulous to my memory.

            My recollection returns shortly after when I awoke laying on a stiff bed of some sort. Hanging from the ceiling above me was a set of bright lights that hurt my eyes when at first I opened them. I heard faint chatter in the same room as I lay, but its clarity was distorted by a loud hum that reverberated in my right ear.

I sat from my daze to better examine my surroundings. The room spun before my eyes, but I discovered I was I was lying in the nurses room at the school. Standing at the door way I saw the blurry figure of Mrs. Bardwell, the school principle, talking to Mrs. Crawford, Douglas’s mother.

            “�"then I suppose he just lunged at your son, Mrs. Crawford, or at least that is what the other children tell me” I heard Mrs. Bardwell say faintly, but my ear still hummed.

“And all for a silly ball?” Mrs. Crawford asked.

“Apparently so. I really do apologize for the trouble of having to come down here and deal with such a childish ordeal! I swear kids these days are getting more and more violent! Back when I was their age, if a kid did such a thing he’d be hit right by his principle until he learned his lesson, then he’d go home and learn his lesson again!”

The two women laughed, taking no notice to the fact I was sitting up from my bed witnessing their conversation. They did take notice of my consciousness when I clambered over the edge of my bed.

“Well, isn’t it just about time you woke up!” Mrs. Bardwell said to me. “You have some mighty big explaining to do, young man!”

“The fool started it!” I said defensively.

“I’ll have none of that!” Mrs. Bardwell asserted, pointing her reproachful finger towards me. “Now this fine lady here is Mrs. Crawford, Douglas’s mother. You owe her an apology for making her take time out of her busy day to come down here because of your careless actions; and once that is done I’ll bring Douglas in here and you can apologize to him as well”

“I don’t owe none them an apology!”

“Now don’t you lip me with that mouth, boy!” Mrs. Crawford said.

“I don’t ‘tend to be lippin’, but Douglas started it all ‘n’ I don’t owe him no ‘pology!”

“Bobby! Apologize to Mrs. Crawford right this instant!”

“I will gladly ‘pologize to her after Douglas comes ‘pologizing to me!”

“I thought you would have already learned a lesson about running your mouth off today, but apparently that isn’t so!” Mrs. Bardwell said. “Now, come here and put out your hand out in front of me!”

I was baffled by the Mrs. Bardwell’s request. The only time I had ever been asked me to extend my hand was by strangers when they wanted to shake it. But I already knew Mrs. Bardwell, so I wondered why she wished to shake my hand. Intrigued, I offered my hand; and to my bitter surprise I was not told to do so for the purpose of shaking her hand. Instead, she tightly seized my wrist. I thrash about to resist the punishment, but still she placed a half dozen snaps with a roller on the back of my hand. I came to sulkily resent Mrs. Bardwell, and the entire Crawford family after that day.

The injury I suffered to my right ear during my conflict with Douglas caused a persistent hum in that ear that lasted for several weeks. Eventually the hum came to an end, as did my ability to hear in that ear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

Monotonously the remaining school days of the third grade passed in an uneventful manner that had me returning to the office of the leathery faced Mrs. Bardwell only once. I was forced to stand before the reproving hag as she sat behind her polished desk, pontificating to me the moral injustice of throwing a rock at fellow classmate.

When school was consummated each day with the anticipated final bell, children were released to do as they pleased and Emily and I would walk home together. I walked slowly as I carried her books, trying to prolong the goodbye that occurred each day at the steps of her front porch. Emily had little spare time to be squandered with me and play. After each goodbye that took place on the front steps of her home, Emily would turn back at screen door and say,

“After I do my chores, eats, ‘n’ study some, we can play!”

Some days she held true to her word, but more often than not I wouldn’t see her again until the following morning when we walked back to school together.

  The final day of the third grade came�"and not a moment too soon. Kids walked gleefully through the halls, with the approach of a summer’s freedom fresh in their minds. My classes for the day consisted of paper airplanes zipping past my face and the incessant chatter of eager children plotting their plans for their first day of freedom.

When the final bell rang and we were free to go, the children fled the school like geese from a shaken tree. I stood in the hallway, searching for sight of Emily somewhere in swarm of children. When at last I spotted her I ran to her side saying, “So whatcha reckon we should do today? Go swimming?�"Naw forget that, it’s still too cold for that! How ‘bouts we go try stoning some birds in the forest?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Bobby! I promised Marylou ‘n’ her big sister Susi that I’d go down to the old Mill’s ranch with ‘em ‘n’ pet some horses!” Emily said to me as she stood up on the tips of her toes trying to spot Mary somewhere in the hall. “But to’marra we can go do that stonin’ thing you said! Okay?”

“Marylou & Susi�"‘Big Marylou’ & ‘Big Susi’ Kern, ya’ mean?” I questioned. Emily nodded.

“Aw, them girls smell like a horse’s rear!�"Look like one too! Just pet them ‘n’ call it a day!” I said.

Emily conveyed a look of disapproval in her scowling eyes but refusal to laugh in her quivering lips.

She then lowered from her tippy-toes and said, “Now Bobby, ya’ know that ain’t a nice thing to say ‘bout no one! They’re my friends ‘n’ if you don’t like ‘em, then I’m sorry”

“Alright, fine, I’m sorry, you go ‘n’ have fun doin’ all that, I’ll just go home alone I suppose�"”

“Bobby, don’t you be makin’ me feel bad ‘bout this! I said we gonna see each other to’marra!”

“I know�"see ya’ later Em’”   

I walked home alone that day, deciding I would wait until Emily was alongside me before having my first capriciousness day of the summer. I toyed with wooden trinkets and other items of distraction to pass the day until it was dark enough to settle my mind into rest.

I awoke zealously the following morning with my mind keen to the thought of Emily and all that the awakening day had in store for us. I visualized her and I would begin our fine day sitting in her kitchen, sharing a plate of crisp bacon her mother had just freshly prepared on the stove, and alongside it we would have two glasses of freshly squeezed, extra pulpy, orange juice that inspired us both to make our satisfaction known with a loud “Ahh” after each gulp. Though it was a meal that was light on the stomach, it was pleasing to the senses.

After our plate was clean and our glasses dry, Emily and I would rock gently from her porch swing with our legs motioning us softly back and forth and our hands crossed calmly upon our laps. It was there that we would begin our discussion on what innocent endeavors we thought most tempting. I would present to Emily a suggestion that she would surely disregard in place of her own suggestion. We would playfully debate for a moment, both refusing the other’s proposal until eventually I conceded and surrendered my will to her entreaty that she sold with nothing more than a fake frown and a hung head.

Our scheme for the day was now set; all that was left to do was bid her mother farewell and then we were free to become lost in our own bliss.

When we found our stomach yearning for food, we would pick peaches from one of the many peach trees that grew in the forest and as we leaned against its trunk enjoying the fruit of our labors, we would mull over the remaining time we had in the day as well as discussing countless trivial matters.

Once our faces shined with the stick of a dozen peaches and our lungs yawned of a full day, we would use the last of our energy to finish our day in the same manner we did each day the previous summer: by climbing to the highest branch we could reach on a deep-rooted oak tree that stared out into the undulating valleys that seemed to span a distance greater than man could travel.

Yes! I thought to myself as I laid in my bed, confident that my lucid visualization was an accurate prophecy of the forthcoming day.

I felt the warmth of the sun creep slowly up my leg as I reviewed the perfection of my coming day once more behind my closed eyes. Unable to merely imagine any longer, and eager to see Emily’s face and hear her soft voice say, “Good mornin’, Bobby!” as I walked up the front steps of her house. I tossed away the blankets that covered me and quickly sprung to my feet.

The sun had risen higher than I thought, urging me to wash and dress in haste so that my dear Emily would not be kept waiting long.

I wasted little time before I decided I was ready to begin my day. I crept from my room and down the stairs, skipping the last because I knew it squeaked loudly when stepped on. Having no choice but to pass through the living room to reach the front door of my home, always proved to be a sluggish trial during the morning hours because I had to gradually inch past my sleeping Ma who laid snoring on the couch.

Opaque blankets hung from each window in the living room, casting a lonesome shadow. Each turn and grunt my Ma made rendered my body frozen, my muscles tense, and my eyes fixed upon her until I was certain she remained asleep and I could progress further.

I was at ease when finally I felt the cool embrace of morning air against my face and the soft ground below my feet. I made my way to the sidewalk and as I strolled the short distance from my yard to Emily’s front steps, I couldn’t help but repeat once more in my head the jovial thoughts I had envisioned earlier while lying in bed.

I came to Emily’s front yard and as always the front door was wide open and the screen door was likely unlocked. Once on the front steps the smell of cooked bacon grew evident and a smile formed my countenance. I placed two soft knocks on the screen door and I heard the distant voice of Emily’s mother say, “Be right there�"”.

I pressed my good ear against the screen and heard the bang of a pot followed by what sounded like a lowly muttered curse. I looked to see if anyone was coming and there I saw Emily’s mother walk from the kitchen bearing an apron.

“Oh! Bobby!” She said cheerfully. “Well, good mornin’, dear!”

“Good mornin’ Mrs. Keller, Is Emily ‘wake?” I asked. Now pressing my face against the screen.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry! But ya’ just missed her! She left with them Kern girls ‘bout�"well�"no more than five minutes ‘go I’d reckon! She’ll be back later on though. You’re more than welcome to come eat some breakfast ‘n’ wait for her if ya’d like!”

I pulled my face from the screen, and stood silent for a moment. I was looking at Mrs. Keller but I wasn’t seeing her. “No�"no thanks, I ain’t hungry. I’ll see ya’ later Mrs. Keller”

“You sure honey? There’s some left over bacon!�"still hot too! Oh, ‘n’ I made some fresh squeezed orange juice jus’ the way ya’ like it!”

I turned my back saying only, “Naw” as I walked down the steps and out of the Keller’s front yard. I heard Mrs. Keller continuing to talk as I walked along the sidewalk “Ya’ sure? . . . . Plen’y left! . . . Want me to tell her to come ‘n’ see you when she gets back? . . . Well, alright, have a good res’ your mornin’, Bobby!”

            I considered returning home, but I thought it best to not attempt my Ma’s rest any further then I already had, so I continued past the front of my house. My intent was towards the forest to loiter in one of my many hiding places.

The Fitz’s dog had broken free of his leash as he often did (usually because Mr. Fitz was too blind to tie a quality knot). The Fitz’s dog ran to my side and barked in search of play. Already displeased in my morning’s defeat, I swatted at the dog with my hand and asserted for him to return home.

The mutt persisted and trailed beside me, nipping softly at my hand and circling my legs. Again, I swatted at his head and commanded him to leave me be. Taking my hand motion as a sign of playful attention, the dog furthered his pester by barking unremittingly at my side.

            I cussed at the dog, using one of the many new words I had learned from my Ma, but did so lowly because adults in Bucklin didn’t disregard foul language from the mouth of a boy as young as I. They thought it their duty to preserve the purity of a child’s mouth. I first learned of this stern objection two summers earlier when an older boy named Sam Fricke dropped his bag of marbles, breaking them all into a mess of colorful shards. Sam expressed his anger so loudly that the heads of at least two dozen housewives peered out their kitchen windows, while their husbands stood on their front porches; backs stiff and arms to their hips.

Sam’s parents lived on the opposite side of town, and only learned of the verbal sin their son had committed when he was dragged home by the lobe of his ear by Mr. Weidman, the town’s self-proclaimed arbiter of principled justice. After Mr. Weidman made it so Sam was unable to sit comfortably for a good month’s time, a feared precedent was solidified, and the bold mouths of the town’s youth grew quiet.

Damn dog! I hissed, watchfully checking my sides to see if any women were in their front yards watering their gardens, or if their husbands had stepped outside for a morning smoke. Leave me the hell alone! I said angrily when I was sure no one was within earshot.

The impulse to strike the relentless dog made me clench my small fists as the unyielding anger built inside me. The metal chain that hung from his neck, dragged loudly across the sidewalk, making a provoking rattle at his every movement. I withheld my turbulent urges, knowing that when one walked through the streets of Bucklin, it was certain that there was always a hidden observer who stood idly by to witness any wrong one may commit, even during the most seemingly uninhibited of mornings.

The bastardly dog dashed ahead of me causing the tail end of his chain to swing and strike sharply against my ankles. I recoiled, and let out a cry of pain as I tried to rub the sting from my injured ankle. The pain augmented my irritation and I began to chase the dog. Part of me wished to catch the dog and punish him rightfully, but another part hoped he would flee at the sight of my rapid approach.

The dog did flee, but my temper didn’t abate. He ran, and I trailed behind with a tailwind of rage. Fostered by my follow, the dog hastened, and the chain around his neck carried behind him like a kite string.

I had lost my grasp on reason, and couldn’t quite fully understand why exactly I was chasing the Fitzs’ dog through town like a madman. But the blinding aggression I felt was the only explanation I needed to further encourage my pursuit of the pestering dog. I don’t think I chased the dog because I wanted to discipline him for his earlier nuisance, but whether I was driven by a deeper rooted anger, and he had become the target of my ferocity merely because I could seize him.

The swift moving dog Fled into the forest. I was glad he chose to do so, because I figured I knew the woods better then a mindless dog and would thus be able to navigate them more proficiently. The dog ran quickly, scurrying under toppled trees and through thick clusters of bushes. I tailed closely behind, leaping over logs and rocks, while my face and body collided sharply with low hanging branches.

            After a lengthy pursuit the old dog grew tired and came to a wheezing halt. I too stopped near where the gasping dog rested. The rapid beat of my strained heart pounded an unharmonious drum in my head.

Still vexed, I walked to dog; he barked at me in a hoarse tone. I told’s ya’ to shut the hell up! I yelled, before placing a firm kick into the ribcage of frightened animal. He cried in agony and futilely tried to squirm away. I kicked again and he fell to his side, and then struggled to return to his feet. My next kick sent the ailing dog tumbling over onto his back; he stood for a moment then collapsed again where he laid whining as he wiggled helplessly on the ground.

I cocked my leg back for one final blow, but the startling realization of what I was doing fell before my eyes, causing me to stumble backwards and lose my balance. For a moment I laid on the ground staring up at the world above. The trees seemed so tall, their tops unreachable. I could barely see the sky through the tangle of green leaves that danced in the gentle wind that blew; but what I did see of the sky reminded me how pure something could be.

The whine of the injured dog returned to my ear and wrenched me from my daydream. I sat up to see the abused creature lying listlessly on the ground, a small amount of blood seeped from his mouth and his eyes lifted slowly open before closing for the last time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

            Word spread rampant of the Fitzs’ missing dog; and with it the allegation that I was seen chasing the dog into the woods the day of its disappearance. It was less than forty eight hours later before there was a loud knock on my front door of my house. I quickly sprung from my bed to spy from my bedroom window that stared directly down to my front porch. I saw Mr. Fitz standing there, and to his side was the callous Mr. Weidman. They knocked again, and I pressed my good ear against the window.

“Good mornin’ Mrs. Hud�"” Mr. Weidman began.

“What y’all want? Ain’t ya’ able to tell how early it is?” My Ma interrupted

“Yes miss, we’re awfully sorry ‘bout intrudin’ on ya’ at such an early hour, but we were wonderin’ if we could possibly have a moment to talk with your boy�"” Said Mr. Fitz.

“BOBBY!” my mom shouted at me from down stairs.

“Ya Ma?” I answered causally.

“GET DOWN HERE!”

I paced my bedroom to ease the nerves that had suddenly become jittery inside me. I hadn’t devoted more than a few thoughts to the Fitzs’ dog since the incident in the woods. But now that I was presented with the possible consequences of my actions, my head became besieged with fear of others, and doubt in my ability to lie when asked of the dog’s whereabouts.

            I quit the safety of my bedroom and headed downstairs, reciting in my head what I would say when asked if I knew what had come of the dog. “I was outside playin’ and then I started playin’ with your dog, but he took off running so I reckoned I’d follow him. He led off into the woods and I tried to keep up but he had gone so fast he got outa my sight and I couldn’t spot him again. I tried callin’ his name and lookin’ for him, but I couldn’t find him nowhere”.

            It was a perfect alibi! They had no way to prove it wasn’t true, and even if they searched the woods they would have found nothing of the dog except for what the wolves had left behind.

            I walked to the side of my Ma and stared at the faces of the two men behind the screen door. Mr. Fitz was old, and though most said he was only sixty years of age, I would have guessed him to be about ninety years. He had no remaining hair, except for the bushy white eye brows that sat above his eyes. His back was bowed like the walking cane he carried, and his face had more lines then a map of the country.

            Mr. Weidman looked much the opposite of Mr. Fitz: he was tall and young looking. His back was rigid to ensure he looked the most dominant wherever he went. His thinning black hair was combed to the side, and he constantly cracked his knuckles to make it seem as though he was ready to hand out a punishment at any given moment.

            “Hello, son” Mr. Weidman said. “Can we talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes, sir” I said. I walked outside, closing the front door behind me.

“All right, Bobby, Mr. Fitz here’s dog has been missin’ for ‘bout a couple days now” Mr. Weidman begun. I nodded with a wide eyed look of surprise. “People ‘round town being sayin’ they saw you chase the dog into the woods, and that was that last time anyone’s seen the thing; do ya’ know where it went?”

I paused for a second to rehearse once more, then said, “I was outside playin’ with Mr. Fitz’s dog, but he took off running so I’d follow him just for the heck of it. He ran off into the woods and I tried to keep up with him, but he got outa my sight and I couldn’t spot him again. I tried callin’ his name and stuff, but I couldn’t see him nowhere”.

The two men nodded and exchanged a look that I couldn’t presume. Mr. Fritz then said, “And that was the last you seen of the dog?”

“Yes, sir it�"”. A loud clatter arose from within my house that was followed by the boorish voice of my Ma, “Get your a*s off that!” there was another loud noise, something fell and my Ma yelled again, “Charlie!” The screen door flung open, nearly knocking me to the ground. My brother Charlie dashed from my house, though my front yard and out onto the street. Mr. Fitz and Mr. Weidman looked puzzled, and unsure of what they should do.

My Ma followed not a second behind my brother. The screen door swung open again and there she was, running in stride down the front steps and through the yard. A lit cigarette hung from her mouth and her blonde matted hair bounced in the bun that she always kept it in.

Charlie ran to the middle of the street and began singing, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, Little�"” “Will someone grab that monkey fool!” my Ma shouted.

Mr. Fitz and Mr. Weidman both shrugged their shoulders while sharing a look of utter bewilderment. Charlie danced joyfully in the street, singing nursery rhymes as he skipped.

“Charlie, if you don’t get your half-witted a*s over here right this second, I’m gonna beat you silly!” My Ma warned, but Charlie proceeded with his foolery. “I’s needs a critterrrr! A critterrrr!” He shouted. “Ya’s can’t catch meeeeee! Ya’s can’t catch meeeeeeee!”

My Ma kicked the fence gate open, and with a baleful weight in her step she marched towards my brother. “Bobby! Come play, Bobby!” He suggested, clapping his hands and laughing ecstatically.

Every man and woman on the block was now standing on their front porch, observing the undignified display; the eyes of their child peered through the window blinds. Charlie continued to sing and call out loudly as he clapped his hands and paraded about the street.

Often Charlie would find himself over taken by a spontaneous enthusiasm that could not be tamed. He would run about the house singing and shouting, knocking frames from the walls and lamps from the tables as he went.

My Ma would pursue him with an unsympathetic wrath. I would watch quietly from the safety of the stairs, while Charlie bounced on the couch and artlessly pranced around, until finally my Ma was able to seize him and repress his animated disposition with a bruising grip around his arm and scornful words hissed into his ear.

This was the first time Charlie’s audacity had ever broken him free from the confinement of my home. My Ma took a swing to grab him, but he dodged her reach then tauntingly laughed in a singsong voice, “Missed me, missed me, now you’s got to kiss me!” My Ma swung again, managing to grab hold of the bottom of Charlie’s shirt, but he escaped her snag and darted away.

“Damn it! Will one of y’all grab this moron!” My Ma barked. The people standing on their porches whispered amongst themselves, hesitant to involve themselves in the dysfunctional family affairs.

“Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream!” Charlie sung.

The barely smoked cigarette fell from my Ma’s lip, and she ignored it as it smoldered on the ground. My Ma was never one to waste a freshly lit cigarette, even during the gravest of moments. Meaning, Charlie had incited her temper greater than he had ever done before.

Part of me always quietly cheered for Charlie as he playfully evaded our Ma, but I made sure to always bear reproachful eyes, incase my visage was ever to be checked for disapproval.  

The feat came to an end when Charlie became distracted by something that had caught his eye on the ground. Our Ma came up behind him, shoving him to the dirt. “You stupid dog!” She yelled. “Makin’ a fool of me like this!”

The elation quickly faded from Charlie’s face, and he tried to squirm from the ominous figure bearing down upon him. “No! No!” He pled, swatting at our Ma’s hands. She knotted her fingers tightly around his messy hair; he let out a painful shriek, and she dragged him back towards our house. My Ma muttered bitterly as she pulled, “Ain’t nothin’ but a stupid fool! . . . you moron of a son! . . . just you wait ‘till I get you inside!”

Every staring eye gaped at my Ma tugging Charlie along by his hair like a disobedient dog. The wives, who watched from their porches, covered their mouths in shock. Their husbands stood beside them with crossed arms, shaking their heads at the scene. I saw Mr. & Mrs. Keller watching from their front porch as well, I was grateful Emily was not there to witness what they had.

My Ma made her way through the yard and up the steps into my house, with Charlie reeling behind her on his hands and knees, begging for her to release him. The door closed with a slam and my Ma could be heard bellowing from the opposite side. Mr. Fitz and Mr. Weidman excused themselves from my front porch and as they went, I heard Mr. Weidman say to Mr. Fitz, “Kid had it comin’.”

The next few days greeted me with strange looks from whispering people. Neither my brother nor Ma were seen or heard from for several weeks after that incident; which led to the creation of rumors and speculation as to the nature of my brother’s punishment.

Some said my Ma had locked him in the cellar forcing him to survive off water that seeped from the brinks and rats that nested in the darkness. Others thought my Ma had killed him, and buried his body in the back yard.

The outlandish tales aroused the interests of the neighborhood children. They would sneak into my yard and peep through the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of my chained brother being beaten by my sadistic Ma. They formed games, daring one and another to step on the front porch or knock on the door. Most only made it as far as the steps before being spooked by the creek of a board or the moan of an old house, and sent screaming wildly from my front yard.

I took up the responsibility of food shopping in the house, and one afternoon while returning from the store, I came to home to find a pack of three boys loitering in front of my house. One was tippy toeing up my front steps, while the other two crouched behind the fence, peering over nervously at their intrepid playmate.

“She’ll shoot ya’ dead if she catches ya’!” I warned. The two boys jumped with fear at my voice; the third froze solid where he stood.

“What’cha mean?” One of the boys asked. “Yeah, what’cha mean?” the other repeated. “I mean she don’t like you kids snooping ‘round her business! She’s got herself a rifle in there, if she sees y’all snooping, she’ll shoot each and every one ya’, dead!”

The boy standing on my steps looked to my house, to me, then back to my house, before relinquishing his progress and hastening from my yard. He was a good three hundred feet down the street while his friends shared a wordless debate of the eyes then decided to follow their fleeing companion. The intrusions lessened after that day.

The summer had not been going as I imagined it would during all the insipid hours I spent in a class room, teetering between a snore and a yawn. I had spent a handful of days playing with Emily, though not as many as I would have liked. She seemed to have developed an alien set of interests over the previous school year, placing great significance on the time she spent with her girl friends and concerning herself more with the typical pastimes of an eight-year-old girl whether then with than those of a nine-year-old boy.

Though she would still toil in the forest, playing games of tag and frog-stomper; I could easily discern from her eagerness to return home that she grew bored of the games we once played with great merriment.

Her and her female friends played with dolls, sung rhymes as they jump roped, and often paraded around in their mother’s clothing and makeup, throwing makeshift “tea parties”; all of which were games I refused to partake in. So on days when Emily was engaged in the games I could not play, I would either roam the woods alone or watch the world through my bedroom window.

I tried to rejoin the group of boys I had abandoned long before, in lieu of Emily; but my return was an unwelcomed one. They thought my desertion to have been a betrayal of the code that all boys were born into, and thus I was no longer a worthy member of their society.

I was not allowed to attend the fourth grade. My Ma said it was best that I didn’t further rot my mind with the words and thoughts of others. But I think she feared I would tell my curious classmates of what occurred inside the mysterious Hudson home. And so, at my Ma’s wishes, I remained segregated from the rest of the town’s youth.

Though there was ample time for play after Emily was released from school, that time was rarely spent with me. The third grade brought her closer to her new friends, and drove a dividing stake between us. It seemed as though she had spurred a new leaf, while I was nothing but a golden path beneath her foot.

Though alone, I preferred to spend my free time in the solitude of the forest. Some nights, when the season granted me the privilege of a bearable night’s air, I would camp inside one of the forts I had built. It was there that I felt the truest sense of home.

Soon the changing seasons forbade me a comfortable night’s rest and I was forced to sleep at home. Eventually the weather progressed from dismal to treacherous; and so marked the return of the previous winter’s malevolent conditions

            As the season became colder, my Ma acquired a keen predilection for the warming attributes of a strong spirit. She had a previous fondness for the taste of such things, but that fondness quickly went from a bottle dwindling slowly over a week’s time, to an entire bottle, or two, vanishing before the sun could rise.

            Though any liquor steadied my Ma’s trembling hand, her clear preference was Jack Daniel’s Whiskey, or, “JD” as she called it.

            The empty glass bottles littered my home, from being piled in corners, closets, and atop tables and counters. They filled the free space in every drawer, and became the center piece to our dining room table.

            “Want me to take these outside, and put ‘em next to the dumpster?” I asked my Ma while I gathered a few bottles that laid scattered across the living room floor.

            “No, you just go put ‘em in the kitchen, ya’ hear?” she slurred.

            “There ain’t no room in the kitchen�"ain’t no room nowhere”

            “Make room!”           

            That dialogue was rephrased and repeated nearly every day.

            The imprudent drinking led to the easy awakening of my Ma’s latent temper. Though never was she a benevolent woman, her character when sober seemed angelic when compared to her drunken temperament. She conceived that every word I said was spoken with a “tone”; every look I gave was derisive; and every action of mine, had a devious motive.

            The slightest of irritants would unleash a tirade of grave proportions that involved a multitude of shouted swears, ridicule; and clumsy swings for my cheek and arm. My brother, Charlie, was both lucky and unlucky. Lucky he was spared of our Ma’s rants. Unlucky that the reason he was spared was because he was kept in his bedroom, behind a door locked with a key that our Ma kept buried in her blouse at all time.

            Excuse the figurative speech, but the greatest change of weather came during a freezing winter night when two large 20oz bottles of “JD” sat on a table beside my Ma, filled to the base with air; and a third bottle swayed drunkenly in her hand.

“Bri . . . bring your brother dow. . . dow . . . down here!” My Ma struggled to say through the intoxication.

“He’s in his room, Ma”

“Ya’ think I . . . don . . . don’t know that?” She said, taking another swig. “Now, go . . . go get him!”

“alright, but Ya’ got the key”

“Can’t you do noth . . . noth . . . nothin’ on your own? You useless pile of . . . of . . . of”

“�"his door is locked, how I ‘possed to get in?” I said calmly.

“Don’t you lip me, boy!” She hiccupped.

Since his incident in the street, Charlie had been getting locked in his bedroom each evening before our Ma began drinking. She justified his confinement with the excuse of: He needs his rest, ‘n’ I need my peace. His door would remain fastened until the following afternoon when our Ma found herself sober enough to remember she was a mother.

“Give me the key, ‘n’ I can go get him” I suggested.

“Awh hell with it! I’ll do it my�"self! You . . . you . . . you can�"‘t do noth . . . nothin’ right!” She stammered.

I watched her stumble up the stairs; one hand griping the banister for balance, the other holding tight to her bottle. A few moments later Charlie dashed down the stairs, our Ma trailing slowly behind.

“Bobby!” Charlie proclaimed happily. I greeted him with a welcoming smile.

“Go . . . go to your room . . . to your damn room, Bobby!” Our Ma ordered as she struggled to maintain her poise coming down the stairs.

“But Ma, it ain’t even seven o’clock!”

“GO!”

It was these times that I did glare at her with a look of utter derision�"abhorring every word she said and wanting to do nothing more than to go and pull her down the stairs. But I reframed from any foolish actions or words and quietly accepted my instruction.

I heard nothing from down stairs, and as the evening hours passed I faded into a weak sleep.

            It was dark, but the large moon hovering in the sky allowed me to see that I was standing on a gravel road, around me I saw the shapes of trees, and in the distance the undulating hill tops shined with the glow of a full moon. The air I felt, told me it was a summer night. I’m not sure where exactly I was, it resembled no part of Bucklin that I had ever seen.

            Feeling compelled to move forth from where I stood, I did so. The sound of gravel crunching announced my every step. As I walked I heard what I perceived to be a set of footsteps that were separate from my own. When I paused to listen, I heard only the song of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

I sensed I was not alone, and that sense instilled a nervous fear within me. I imagined unfriendly entities, both natural and supernatural, lurking ominously in the shadows around me. I continued down the gravel path.

Something horrific happened while I slept. A terrible misfortune that’s true cause will never be known. I was awoken at dawn the following morning by the sounds of a commotion brewing outside. I went to my window to investigate, and as I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes I was alarmed by the sight of at least twenty or more people filling the street about three hundred feet from the front of my house.

In it I saw Mr. Keller, Mr. & Mrs. Fitz, Mr. Weidman and his son, and a batch of other individuals. The crowd looked to have been surrounding something, but their bodies blocked my view to what it was they huddled over. Mr. Weidman yelled something, a moment later his son, along with two other men, quickly ran in the direction of the Weidman home. Mr. Keller was yelling too, but even with my good ear pressed against the glass I couldn’t distinguish the words he shouted. Ms. Keppel, the town Liberian, looked to have been crying as she stood on the outer edge of the crowd, her face buried in her knitted mittens.

I cursed at all who stood in the way of my view. The sidewalks and streets were buried beneath a thick layer of white snow. The fresh blanket of powder that fallen over Bucklin during the previous night, kicked into the air like splashed water whenever someone stepped through it.

I conjectured that perhaps either Mr. or Mrs. Hassle, the elderly couple that lived down the street, had slipped on the ice and hurt themselves. But before my theory had much time to play in my head, it was disproven when I saw Mr. Keller bend over to lift something up. When he rose, I saw him holding the stiff body of person.

Suddenly my grip on the window jam loosened, my legs felt too weak to bear the weight of my body, and my breath shortened to a depriving rate. It was not Mr. or Mrs. Hassle whom Mr. Keller held; it was my brother, Charlie.