There once was a young boy, named Jeremy. Jeremy was born with a rare genetic disorder that left him with brittle bones. His condition was so bad that even the slightest physical activity could leave him in the hospital. His parents tried their best to keep him safe. They safety proofed the house, made sure he was never out of their sight, and bought him books to read so he’d stay mentally active. However, they could only do so much when it came to school. The kids would make fun of him, calling him names like Brittle-bones or comparing him to an old man for needing a cane. The young boys and girls always knew where lil’ Jeremy knew by sound of his joints clicking and clacking across the tile halls. While the other kids played kickball or climbed the jungle gym, Jeremy would sit alone in the classroom reading books. Despite his parent's wishes, Jeremy would sneak off to the one place where he could feel like himself: the library in the center of town.
One day, a couple kids decided to play a prank on Jeremy. They thought it would be fun to take Jeremy’s favorite book from him, because he couldn't do anything about it. They ‘played’ their own version of monkey in the middle with Jeremy as the monkey. One of the teens, however, decided that if Jeremy wanted his book back so much that he should jump for it. And so Jeremy jumped. And jumped. And jumped. Over and over and over. Even as Jeremy’s shins splintered and feet shattered he kept jumping, the book was still out of his reach. The other kids thought the teen was going to far but he kept the book raised high above Jeremy. When the teen finally had his fun, the teen decided to put Jeremy’s book on the highest shelf he could reach. The teen laughed, and told lil’ Jeremy to get it himself... and so Jeremy did. Wether it was desperation or dedication that took hold of the young boy, but Jeremy climbed. Jeremy crawled up the shelves even as the teen… even as I told him to stop. Lil’ Jeremy kept climbing until he was just out of arms reach of his precious book before he took his greatest tumble, with the weight of the bookshelf falling with him. The little boys and girls cried and screamed as the adults came running to the sound of the bookshelf. But as they lifted up the fallen bookshelf, the site they saw told us that it was to late. That was the last time I saw Jeremy as the adults rushed him to the ambulance, his bones clicking and clacking with each swing of his shattered arms. But I can still hear him. In every hallway, every linoleum floor, every single night. I hear lil’ Jeremy. The sounds of his shattered arms and splintered jaw clicking and clacking with every movement. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, as I walk past the foreclosed library in our town, I swear I can see him too.
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