The first time he appeared, it didn't seem all that out of the ordinary. I had just saved Annie Oakley from a nefarious band of outlaws and was on my way to pitch at the World Series. What was so odd about a butt-naked little black boy walking out of a mirage?
I was eight years old, and knew I was destined to be a scientist and a super hero. In my imagination, future generations listed me amongst the greatest names in human history... Goddard, Edison, Madam Curie, Barbarella, Doctor Strange, Tom Corbett and the Space Rangers and Tom Bowie from Texas. Thomas Jefferson Bowie, as my mother had named me. I dreamed I was a hero waiting to happen.
The world occured for me on the cusp of magic and elementary science. Salt crystals on a string and sweet potato roots growing in a glass of water were no more real or less magical than trips to Mars or the ninth dimension. I had this theory at the time (I've always been big on theories) that if you squinted your eyes while looking into the refraction caused by heat waves you should be able to break open the fabric of reality and see alternate worlds. The alternate world I was searching for was China, the distinction between geography and the physics of parallel worlds being a bit blurred at the time. China and Never Never Land coexisted on the planet of my fancies.
I was lying under the shadow of a big chinaberry tree at the edge of the cotton field on my father's panhandle farm. I could hear Floyd Cramer's Magic Touch album tinkling across the plowed field from an open window at the house. Mom was probably playing it for the fourth or fifth time in a row. I was squinting at the heat rising off the narrow piece of blacktop that runs just the other side of the irrigation ditch when I began to see a hazy shadow in the waves.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
< 2 >
Now this was pretty exciting, because my purpose in trying to reach China was to acquire a magic baseball bat made of superior Chinese ash that would, I was quite certain, allow me to add a homerun to the no hitter I was planning to pitch in the World Series. Spurred by the cheers of the crowd, I redoubled my efforts and squinted intensely at the billowing figure in the refracted air.
He seemed to be waving his hand, calling me to him. I began to feel a bond between us, like we were working together against some kind of powerful tide. I drew my hands up and carefully formed a circle with my fingers. Thus, looking through my improvised telescope, I blocked out the rest of the world and was able to focus on the dark figure without distraction. (I had found this method useful in previous experiments.)
Just as I thought I was starting to really see something, I had a feeling something elemental was collapsing in the world around me. There was a kind of "fffffffooooop" sound. A few leaves tumbled through the air. I was distracted, looked high into the tree and inadvertently blasted my eyes by looking full at the disk of the late afternoon sun. When I looked down again, my eyes full of whirling powder blue spots, there he was, jumping over the irrigation ditch, a little black boy...naked as a jay bird.
I remember being quite embarrassed by his lack of clothes. As remarkable as the event was, I think I was more concerned by the possibility that my parents would come out and see me playing with a naked black boy, something one didn't do after the age of three or four in Sweetwater, Texas. I said "Where's your pants?" After all he didn't even put his hand over his talliwagger, a clear sign of poor breeding.
He seemed to be waving his hand, calling me to him. I began to feel a bond between us, like we were working together against some kind of powerful tide. I drew my hands up and carefully formed a circle with my fingers. Thus, looking through my improvised telescope, I blocked out the rest of the world and was able to focus on the dark figure without distraction. (I had found this method useful in previous experiments.)
Just as I thought I was starting to really see something, I had a feeling something elemental was collapsing in the world around me. There was a kind of "fffffffooooop" sound. A few leaves tumbled through the air. I was distracted, looked high into the tree and inadvertently blasted my eyes by looking full at the disk of the late afternoon sun. When I looked down again, my eyes full of whirling powder blue spots, there he was, jumping over the irrigation ditch, a little black boy...naked as a jay bird.
I remember being quite embarrassed by his lack of clothes. As remarkable as the event was, I think I was more concerned by the possibility that my parents would come out and see me playing with a naked black boy, something one didn't do after the age of three or four in Sweetwater, Texas. I said "Where's your pants?" After all he didn't even put his hand over his talliwagger, a clear sign of poor breeding.
< 3 >
“We have but a short time together, we should speak of greater things." he replied. I remember being suprised that he was such a well spoken little black boy. "You are a Sentinel." he said. I was clear he meant Sentinel with a capital S, whatever that was. "We have much to do." He stopped talking and looked curiously at the old chinaberry. He walked up to it, placed both hands on the bark and closed his eyes for a moment. "Good" he said.
Then he walked over to me, talliwagger and all, and put his hand on my cheek. He got a soft look on his face. I guess I must have looked a little alarmed. "Don't worry," he counseled "it will seem a long time before your part begins." Then to my profound embarrassment, he leaned over and kissed me right on the lips.
There is no greater affront to the dignity of an eight year old Texan than to be kissed on the lips by someone naked. I staggered back in shock, wiping my mouth involuntarily with the back of my hand, my spit reflex out of control. He got a curious look on his face as he watched me wipe and spit madly. Suddenly he grabbed his sides and fell on the ground in a symphony of laughter. At first I was angry at his insensitivity. But then I heard his laughing. The sound it made was so unusual that I stopped rubbing and spitting. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, listening to the wonderful sounds that seemed to come from all over him as he rolled on the ground.
It was more like music than laughter, with little bells and whoops. I imagined a stream would laugh the same way, with many voices all ringing and chuckling at once. It was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard in my life... We played and talked for what seemed like hours. We chattered about everything imaginable, the relationship between dreams and lemon custard ice cream, impossible monsters of the deep and why they were never caught in tuna nets, the immutability of snowflakes and rainbows, how owls could appear and disappear at will. We discussed mirrors, cats eye marbles, wishbones and other objects with magical properties. We talked about flying, something he said was easy but didn't demonstrate. We argued over how many june bugs were in the world and mysteries of science like how they sucked the air out of tennis ball cans.
Then he walked over to me, talliwagger and all, and put his hand on my cheek. He got a soft look on his face. I guess I must have looked a little alarmed. "Don't worry," he counseled "it will seem a long time before your part begins." Then to my profound embarrassment, he leaned over and kissed me right on the lips.
There is no greater affront to the dignity of an eight year old Texan than to be kissed on the lips by someone naked. I staggered back in shock, wiping my mouth involuntarily with the back of my hand, my spit reflex out of control. He got a curious look on his face as he watched me wipe and spit madly. Suddenly he grabbed his sides and fell on the ground in a symphony of laughter. At first I was angry at his insensitivity. But then I heard his laughing. The sound it made was so unusual that I stopped rubbing and spitting. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, listening to the wonderful sounds that seemed to come from all over him as he rolled on the ground.
It was more like music than laughter, with little bells and whoops. I imagined a stream would laugh the same way, with many voices all ringing and chuckling at once. It was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard in my life... We played and talked for what seemed like hours. We chattered about everything imaginable, the relationship between dreams and lemon custard ice cream, impossible monsters of the deep and why they were never caught in tuna nets, the immutability of snowflakes and rainbows, how owls could appear and disappear at will. We discussed mirrors, cats eye marbles, wishbones and other objects with magical properties. We talked about flying, something he said was easy but didn't demonstrate. We argued over how many june bugs were in the world and mysteries of science like how they sucked the air out of tennis ball cans.
< 4 >
He said he could talk to animals and trees. He said everything was alive the same as you and me and had the very same feelings. I squashed a beetle to prove him wrong and he cried. I said he was a crybaby and he said he would rather be a crybaby than a bug killer. I didn't like it when he cried so pretty soon I quit squashing things. I liked it a lot better when he laughed and as I remember, he laughed a lot.
After a while I forgot all about his nakedness and his blackness. I did anything I could to make him laugh again. I didn't care what kind of fool I made of myself. I didn't care how much I had to contort my body and my principles. I guess I was in love. Late in the day, as the West Texas sun was burning hazy and red just above the horizen, we lay between the rows of the cotton field, exhausted from playing hide and seek. We lay close, his head upon my chest. He was listening to my heart beat.
"Your heart beats with a steady rhythm..." I knew that. After all, I was a man of science. "...Just like your body, the world has a heart that beats, a basic rhythm to its song. The trees hear it, the birds hear it and the bugs hear it." He looked up at me. "You can hear it too...want to?" The whole thing sounded wierd to me but what the heck, I was an explorer. "Sure."
He told me to sit up, cross my legs and close my eyes. He told me to find the sun and when I protested that my eyes were closed he just repeated "Keep your eyes closed and find the sun." There was something about the little black boy that made me believe anything was possible. I overcame my disbelief and looked into the dim swirl of impressions in varying degrees of grey that covered the back of my eyelids. Lines, waves of black on grey moved like amoebas under a microscope across my field of vision. Spots separated from less distinct amorphous blobs and began to take on vague colors. After a while one spot, less dull than the others began to form in the murky fluid and as it became more evident, it began to glow with a smoky grey brilliance.
After a while I forgot all about his nakedness and his blackness. I did anything I could to make him laugh again. I didn't care what kind of fool I made of myself. I didn't care how much I had to contort my body and my principles. I guess I was in love. Late in the day, as the West Texas sun was burning hazy and red just above the horizen, we lay between the rows of the cotton field, exhausted from playing hide and seek. We lay close, his head upon my chest. He was listening to my heart beat.
"Your heart beats with a steady rhythm..." I knew that. After all, I was a man of science. "...Just like your body, the world has a heart that beats, a basic rhythm to its song. The trees hear it, the birds hear it and the bugs hear it." He looked up at me. "You can hear it too...want to?" The whole thing sounded wierd to me but what the heck, I was an explorer. "Sure."
He told me to sit up, cross my legs and close my eyes. He told me to find the sun and when I protested that my eyes were closed he just repeated "Keep your eyes closed and find the sun." There was something about the little black boy that made me believe anything was possible. I overcame my disbelief and looked into the dim swirl of impressions in varying degrees of grey that covered the back of my eyelids. Lines, waves of black on grey moved like amoebas under a microscope across my field of vision. Spots separated from less distinct amorphous blobs and began to take on vague colors. After a while one spot, less dull than the others began to form in the murky fluid and as it became more evident, it began to glow with a smoky grey brilliance.
< 5 >
"There," he said "bring yourself to the light." The spot, now clearly a globe, began to get brighter and brighter until it burned with a radiance that fightened me. It felt like the inside of my skull was getting warm. I was scared it was going to burn up my brain. I started to talk but then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Do not be afraid, the light will not hurt you. Make friends with the light. Draw it to your heart."
After a few moments of hesitation, I drew the shining globe closer in my imagination. The warmth began to feel good, comforting and intimate yet grand and exciting, as though my mother held me perfectly safe in her arms while I journeyed on some brave adventure. All the while the little black boy kept saying "... bring the light home to your heart, bring it home to your heart".
After a while, I heard a new sound, like the thrumbing of frogs in a creek at first, a low, cyclic vibration that seemed to merge perfectly with my heartbeat. As I pulled the "sun" to myself, it passed the field of my perception and the imagined "sight" of my closed eyes. I felt its warmth settle into my chest as the low thrumbing seemed to splinter into a thousand sounds, a kaliedescope of animal noises, trumpeting, growling, barking, hooting, the cacophany of nature's hue an cry; the minute whisper of a soft breeze on a blade of grass, the ultra-deep rumbles of geological phenomenon, all bound together in an impossible concert.
My entire being moved in union with the sound, my body weaved and bounced like a leaf on a pond. The little black boy had thrown a rock, breaking the surface of my life, and all I could do was struggle to keep myself upright as wave after wave rushed through me. I felt an overpowering sense of wellbeing and peace, a belonging more complete than any love I had known. I sensed that I somehow fit in a grander whole, that I was loved, appreciated and important. It was a wonderous.
After a few moments of hesitation, I drew the shining globe closer in my imagination. The warmth began to feel good, comforting and intimate yet grand and exciting, as though my mother held me perfectly safe in her arms while I journeyed on some brave adventure. All the while the little black boy kept saying "... bring the light home to your heart, bring it home to your heart".
After a while, I heard a new sound, like the thrumbing of frogs in a creek at first, a low, cyclic vibration that seemed to merge perfectly with my heartbeat. As I pulled the "sun" to myself, it passed the field of my perception and the imagined "sight" of my closed eyes. I felt its warmth settle into my chest as the low thrumbing seemed to splinter into a thousand sounds, a kaliedescope of animal noises, trumpeting, growling, barking, hooting, the cacophany of nature's hue an cry; the minute whisper of a soft breeze on a blade of grass, the ultra-deep rumbles of geological phenomenon, all bound together in an impossible concert.
My entire being moved in union with the sound, my body weaved and bounced like a leaf on a pond. The little black boy had thrown a rock, breaking the surface of my life, and all I could do was struggle to keep myself upright as wave after wave rushed through me. I felt an overpowering sense of wellbeing and peace, a belonging more complete than any love I had known. I sensed that I somehow fit in a grander whole, that I was loved, appreciated and important. It was a wonderous.
< 6 >
At last he shook my shoulder and told me to look at him. His eyes, too big for his face, swam before me. "In the future, when you are lost or confused just remember, return to your heart...return to your heart." "I must go" he said. His face was an indistinct mass of dots as my eyes adjusted to the natural light. I felt a touch of panic. I didn't want him to leave. "I will return but you would be wise not to wait for me." He walked over to the edge of the field, then turned and faced me. "It will be a long time before you see me again but I will always be your friend. I will always love you."
He winked, waved, and stepped onto the blacktop between me and the setting sun. Old Sol zapped me again and by the time my eyes could focus, he was gone. It would have been better if I had taken his advice and not waited. But after all, a "long time" is relative to the one who waits. Two hours seems like a "long time" to an eight year old. Hundreds of times over the next few weeks I squinted through my fist telescope at the rising waves of heat. At first I was disappointed that he did not immediately return when I called. Then I decided that there must be some variation in the process that I was forgetting. With true scientific detachment, I tried one method after another, with the fist telescope and without; with the same clothes I had worn that afternoon; sitting in first one position and then another under the old chinaberry. Nothing worked.
I racked my brain trying to think what I could be doing wrong. It never occured to me that I had not been the sole author of the boy's visit. When you're eight, the universe revolves around you. I didn't think about the possibility that my careful squinting had nothing to do with the events of that day. On the other hand, I refused to consider that I had imagined the whole thing. I knew it had happened. I knew I had caused it and the boy would return if I just brought together the right ingredients.
I couldn't give up because I wanted to be a "Sentinel". I didn't actually know what it was but it sounded exciting and important. There wasn't a lot of magic kicking around in the dust of the Texas panhandle in 1958. I was a bit of a daydreamer, not particularly well suited to the practical calling of the farmer. It seemed that right when I would get going on a really exciting fantasy, my father would call me to check the chickens for eggs, or take some table scraps to the hogs or some other loathsome task. And if I took the least bit too long to complete the job, he would be all over me about "goofing off" and "living in a dream world".
He winked, waved, and stepped onto the blacktop between me and the setting sun. Old Sol zapped me again and by the time my eyes could focus, he was gone. It would have been better if I had taken his advice and not waited. But after all, a "long time" is relative to the one who waits. Two hours seems like a "long time" to an eight year old. Hundreds of times over the next few weeks I squinted through my fist telescope at the rising waves of heat. At first I was disappointed that he did not immediately return when I called. Then I decided that there must be some variation in the process that I was forgetting. With true scientific detachment, I tried one method after another, with the fist telescope and without; with the same clothes I had worn that afternoon; sitting in first one position and then another under the old chinaberry. Nothing worked.
I racked my brain trying to think what I could be doing wrong. It never occured to me that I had not been the sole author of the boy's visit. When you're eight, the universe revolves around you. I didn't think about the possibility that my careful squinting had nothing to do with the events of that day. On the other hand, I refused to consider that I had imagined the whole thing. I knew it had happened. I knew I had caused it and the boy would return if I just brought together the right ingredients.
I couldn't give up because I wanted to be a "Sentinel". I didn't actually know what it was but it sounded exciting and important. There wasn't a lot of magic kicking around in the dust of the Texas panhandle in 1958. I was a bit of a daydreamer, not particularly well suited to the practical calling of the farmer. It seemed that right when I would get going on a really exciting fantasy, my father would call me to check the chickens for eggs, or take some table scraps to the hogs or some other loathsome task. And if I took the least bit too long to complete the job, he would be all over me about "goofing off" and "living in a dream world".
< 7 >
My parents never really understood the practical applications of my imagination. I tried to explain that I planned to be a great inventor and adventurer and that it was important for me to consider a broad variety of taking on some real responsibility. When I got too wound up he'd say something like "Why don't you go invent the weeds out of the garden." or "Why don't you go have an adventure in the chicken coop, and bring back the eggs."
So being offered a job as a Sentinel was one hell of a validation. Whatever it was, I thought it was bound to take me far away from the stink of chicken can see that it was critical that I bring the little black boy back. I couldn't very well tell my parents that I had "fffooooped" a naked kid into the cotton field without evidence.
Day after day I squinted one variation after another, After what seemed like a year and was probably three or four weeks, I really began to resent the fact furious. I just knew the little black boy was responsible for this indignity. Okay, I decided, if he didn't want to talk to me, I'd be damned if I was going to bust my butt trying to talk to him. Hell, what did he know anyway. He didn't even cover his talliwager in public!
Things don't stick when you're eight. Life is full of adventure, filled with exquisite joy and exquisite sorrow. I had bad guys to fight, cowgirls to save and no-hitters to pitch. I would just have to make do without him and that cannot allow their differences. Still, from time to time, in a whisper of the wind or the creak of a rusty hinge, I would hear a faint but haunting laughter...laughter like nothing I had heard before, and I would remember his words, "...return to your heart, return to your heart."
So being offered a job as a Sentinel was one hell of a validation. Whatever it was, I thought it was bound to take me far away from the stink of chicken can see that it was critical that I bring the little black boy back. I couldn't very well tell my parents that I had "fffooooped" a naked kid into the cotton field without evidence.
Day after day I squinted one variation after another, After what seemed like a year and was probably three or four weeks, I really began to resent the fact furious. I just knew the little black boy was responsible for this indignity. Okay, I decided, if he didn't want to talk to me, I'd be damned if I was going to bust my butt trying to talk to him. Hell, what did he know anyway. He didn't even cover his talliwager in public!
Things don't stick when you're eight. Life is full of adventure, filled with exquisite joy and exquisite sorrow. I had bad guys to fight, cowgirls to save and no-hitters to pitch. I would just have to make do without him and that cannot allow their differences. Still, from time to time, in a whisper of the wind or the creak of a rusty hinge, I would hear a faint but haunting laughter...laughter like nothing I had heard before, and I would remember his words, "...return to your heart, return to your heart."
< 8 >
It's a nice arrangement. They get free maintenance and I get to never grow up.I like working with kids. Generally I have a lot more respect for them than the arrogant and pretentious beings they turn into when they grow up. They're straight up; they value every moment and unlike my wife, my parents and the rest of the adult world, they love my imagination.
A red-headed pint sized linebacker slammed into my left leg. "I love you, Uncle Tom." "I love you, too, Nicholas Robbins" I said as I fought for balance. A roving pack of 4 and 5 year olds greeted me as I came onto the playground. That first five minutes when I arrive at St. Maddy's is probably the best time of my week. Since I only come on Friday afternoons, it's a big deal. When I walk in the gate the whole playground erupts with choruses of "Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!" Kids come running from all directions to hug my neck and drown me in affection. Just the thing to shore up an old brokendown ballplayer's spirits.
"Well, I see you still haven't been able to get a real job. What'sa matter, no work out there for well off white people?" "Oh there's plenty of work," I replied "you've got your positions in savings and loan fraud, television evangelism accounting, your odd job for the military industrial complex keepin' the nigras down on the the plantation and of course I could probably get on as a South African policeman or an Israeli soldier, both respected jobs for white people but...I think I'll just stick to my original career path." "Oh really," she laughed "well tell me little boy, what do you want to be when you grow up? Not a basketball player I hope."
I ignored the jab. "No, I've given up on that, too old, now I want to be watermelon taster for the NAACP or maybe talk to Gladys Knight about joining the Pips...you've seen me dance?" I did an off-balance buck and a wing. We both dissolved into laughter. Tell me," I asked "how's the Pope?" I know just where to get her. She's a practicing Catholic and a little embarrassed about it. "Hey, did you hear the one about what happened when the Pope went to mount Olive?...Popeye beat the hell out of...ouch!"
A red-headed pint sized linebacker slammed into my left leg. "I love you, Uncle Tom." "I love you, too, Nicholas Robbins" I said as I fought for balance. A roving pack of 4 and 5 year olds greeted me as I came onto the playground. That first five minutes when I arrive at St. Maddy's is probably the best time of my week. Since I only come on Friday afternoons, it's a big deal. When I walk in the gate the whole playground erupts with choruses of "Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!" Kids come running from all directions to hug my neck and drown me in affection. Just the thing to shore up an old brokendown ballplayer's spirits.
"Well, I see you still haven't been able to get a real job. What'sa matter, no work out there for well off white people?" "Oh there's plenty of work," I replied "you've got your positions in savings and loan fraud, television evangelism accounting, your odd job for the military industrial complex keepin' the nigras down on the the plantation and of course I could probably get on as a South African policeman or an Israeli soldier, both respected jobs for white people but...I think I'll just stick to my original career path." "Oh really," she laughed "well tell me little boy, what do you want to be when you grow up? Not a basketball player I hope."
I ignored the jab. "No, I've given up on that, too old, now I want to be watermelon taster for the NAACP or maybe talk to Gladys Knight about joining the Pips...you've seen me dance?" I did an off-balance buck and a wing. We both dissolved into laughter. Tell me," I asked "how's the Pope?" I know just where to get her. She's a practicing Catholic and a little embarrassed about it. "Hey, did you hear the one about what happened when the Pope went to mount Olive?...Popeye beat the hell out of...ouch!"
< 9 >
I was thinking how great it was to be with these people, to be at this place, to have the life I have. Sure I've got problems. I make mistakes. There are a number of areas in my life where I've made a habit of it. Still, the great thing about being with kids is that you learn to appreciate the magic in the world. They show you each moment, each event, each experience as an opportunity for wonder. I love them and they know it. That's all it takes for them to love me back with all their massive little hearts.
After Variety walked away, I wandered around the playground for a few minutes giving and getting hugs from various children and ended up under a big pecan tree to get some relief from the heat. As I settled my worn out old frame into the grass, I heard a funny sound. It sounded familiar but far away...sort of like running water...but different. I squinted into the afternoon sun hanging low in the sky above the parking lot just outside the playground. As I listened, the sound seemed to grow louder. My mind ran through the possibilites... a broken water main, several children giggling, somebody playing some cheerful but unusual music on a car stereo. I looked harder but it was hard to focus. The heat rising off the blacktop obscured something that seemed just out of my vision.
I cupped my hands over my eyes to block out the sun and thought I saw something. Things seemed to get quiet on the playground. There was a sort of "ffffooooop" sound that shook my concentration. I looked around to see if all the kids were okay. When I turned back, a naked little black boy came running over to me from across the playground. Now I've got to admit, my first reaction was to take him in and put some clothes on him. If one of the parents came and found their youngster naked with a 6' 6" ex-hippie basketball player...well I just didn't want to explain it. I reached out and took his hand and started walking as fast as possible into the building.
I got part way and Variety sauntered up. "Oh crap," I thought "she'll have a field day with this one." "Leaving your post stretch?" she asked "whatsamatter, can't hold it?" I shuffled and looked down at my naked ward. "Well, we've got a little business to take care of. Somebody decided to do the afternoon au naturel." She looked at me, then looked back on the playground, then looked back at me again. "What...who?" she asked I nodded at the urchin at my feet. "This person right here" I said.
After Variety walked away, I wandered around the playground for a few minutes giving and getting hugs from various children and ended up under a big pecan tree to get some relief from the heat. As I settled my worn out old frame into the grass, I heard a funny sound. It sounded familiar but far away...sort of like running water...but different. I squinted into the afternoon sun hanging low in the sky above the parking lot just outside the playground. As I listened, the sound seemed to grow louder. My mind ran through the possibilites... a broken water main, several children giggling, somebody playing some cheerful but unusual music on a car stereo. I looked harder but it was hard to focus. The heat rising off the blacktop obscured something that seemed just out of my vision.
I cupped my hands over my eyes to block out the sun and thought I saw something. Things seemed to get quiet on the playground. There was a sort of "ffffooooop" sound that shook my concentration. I looked around to see if all the kids were okay. When I turned back, a naked little black boy came running over to me from across the playground. Now I've got to admit, my first reaction was to take him in and put some clothes on him. If one of the parents came and found their youngster naked with a 6' 6" ex-hippie basketball player...well I just didn't want to explain it. I reached out and took his hand and started walking as fast as possible into the building.
I got part way and Variety sauntered up. "Oh crap," I thought "she'll have a field day with this one." "Leaving your post stretch?" she asked "whatsamatter, can't hold it?" I shuffled and looked down at my naked ward. "Well, we've got a little business to take care of. Somebody decided to do the afternoon au naturel." She looked at me, then looked back on the playground, then looked back at me again. "What...who?" she asked I nodded at the urchin at my feet. "This person right here" I said.
< 10 >
She looked confused, then suspicious. "I don't know what you're setting up with this one Uncle Tom, but it won't work. I'm wise to your tricks." She smiled and eased off with a nervous look I recognized from previous practical jokes. "Go choose another victim" she suggested. Suddenly I was struck by a paralyzing fear. Something was wrong. I felt dizzy and confused. All I remember was the sound of a mountain stream laughing as I fell backwards onto the pea gravel of St. Maddy's playground.
I was running down a dark game trail in an overgrown forest. Briars and thorns tore at my legs. A tangle of brush and grapevine hung over the path creating an impenetrable barrier to either side. They were calling me. I could hear their voices. I had to hurry...they were in danger...dying. The path constricted even further until I was no longer able to run. I had to get on my hands and knees and crawl. I fought my way through the snarl of brush. I was having to force my way through it on my stomach. They were just ahead. I could hear them.
The bramble and the briar caught on my clothes. I tore at it, crying out in frustration. The struggling only got me more entangled. The voices were even more desperate and afraid. I knew if I could just get loose and reach out my hand I could help. The vines just tightened their grip. They tore at my skin and scratched my face. I closed my eyes and writhed on the ground, screaming "Let me go! I've got to save them!" The voices kept calling my name. Tiny hands were running their fingers over my body. They wanted something. They shouted at me in desperation.
"He's still here." I thought "I must be going crazy." He gave me a penetrating look, then went back to drawing in the sand. Now I'm a child of the Nicholas Robbins held my face in his hands. Several of the other children were gathered around me on the ground petting my chest and legs. "It's time to wake up Uncle Tom." Nicholas smiled as Variety and one of the other teachers came running up, concern on their faces. “Tom are you okay?" She grabbed my wrist, felt my cheeks and all that other stuff they teach in the first aid course required by the state for day care providers.
I was running down a dark game trail in an overgrown forest. Briars and thorns tore at my legs. A tangle of brush and grapevine hung over the path creating an impenetrable barrier to either side. They were calling me. I could hear their voices. I had to hurry...they were in danger...dying. The path constricted even further until I was no longer able to run. I had to get on my hands and knees and crawl. I fought my way through the snarl of brush. I was having to force my way through it on my stomach. They were just ahead. I could hear them.
The bramble and the briar caught on my clothes. I tore at it, crying out in frustration. The struggling only got me more entangled. The voices were even more desperate and afraid. I knew if I could just get loose and reach out my hand I could help. The vines just tightened their grip. They tore at my skin and scratched my face. I closed my eyes and writhed on the ground, screaming "Let me go! I've got to save them!" The voices kept calling my name. Tiny hands were running their fingers over my body. They wanted something. They shouted at me in desperation.
"He's still here." I thought "I must be going crazy." He gave me a penetrating look, then went back to drawing in the sand. Now I'm a child of the Nicholas Robbins held my face in his hands. Several of the other children were gathered around me on the ground petting my chest and legs. "It's time to wake up Uncle Tom." Nicholas smiled as Variety and one of the other teachers came running up, concern on their faces. “Tom are you okay?" She grabbed my wrist, felt my cheeks and all that other stuff they teach in the first aid course required by the state for day care providers.
< 11 >
"I'm fine, I'm fine" I mumbled to the people standing around me, "It must be the heat." I shooed them all away, then scooted over into the shade and put my back against the tree. I saw Variety walk into the school and knew she was going in to call my wife. Well, I'd have to deal with that later. Right now, I needed to sort a few things out.
As I watched Sarah and the boy play, I started humming "You Can't Ever Come Down" from the American Metaphysical Circus album by Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies. I checked out my body. Nothing hurt, I was a little dizzy but some disorientation was understandable given I had just regained consciousness. Yep, I could feel all ten fingers and all ten toes. I was all there. I got up unsteadily and walked over to the two children.
looked around the playground. Variety and the other teacher kept casting worried looks in my direction. I waved and smiled hoping to make them feel more secure than I felt myself. I couldn't understand why they didn't come over and dress my little 'maginary friend. St Maddy's is a liberal school but a fully naked child on the playground would not be considered de rigueur.
They can't see me." said the little boy."I only created my image for the little girl in order to facilitate our conversation. I am not theirs... and..." he paused as though struggling for words "they are past the age." I didn't say anything yet. I still wasn't sure I should be talking to a hallucination. "What you heard before, the voices, it was the beginning of the awakening. You are a Sentinel. I am your friend. We have much to do."
As I watched Sarah and the boy play, I started humming "You Can't Ever Come Down" from the American Metaphysical Circus album by Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies. I checked out my body. Nothing hurt, I was a little dizzy but some disorientation was understandable given I had just regained consciousness. Yep, I could feel all ten fingers and all ten toes. I was all there. I got up unsteadily and walked over to the two children.
looked around the playground. Variety and the other teacher kept casting worried looks in my direction. I waved and smiled hoping to make them feel more secure than I felt myself. I couldn't understand why they didn't come over and dress my little 'maginary friend. St Maddy's is a liberal school but a fully naked child on the playground would not be considered de rigueur.
They can't see me." said the little boy."I only created my image for the little girl in order to facilitate our conversation. I am not theirs... and..." he paused as though struggling for words "they are past the age." I didn't say anything yet. I still wasn't sure I should be talking to a hallucination. "What you heard before, the voices, it was the beginning of the awakening. You are a Sentinel. I am your friend. We have much to do."
< 12 >
I put my hand in front of my mouth so no one could see me talking. "What do you mean `the awakening'?" I asked. "A time for testing has come to your world. Much will be determined in a very short while. The child will be raised. If he is accepted, your world will experience a sudden maturation. If he is not, all will be lost. "What is a Sentinel?" I asked.
"You are the watcher. You are to watch and record. You see as an adult but you can love and be as a child. You live in both worlds. Only a few like you and the children can be shown the truth. "What truth?" Things were getting heavy. My hallucination was using the "T" word. "Your world is awakening, all life, like..." he looked in my eyes as if he was fishing for a metaphor "...like a butterfly leaving a cocoon. It will be very vulnerable for a while. It is a critical period. If you survive, your world will have..." he searched for the right words again "...will have a new life."
Now I wasn't really listening to this. My mind was desperately trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for this decidely unreasonable situation. The kid looked maybe five years old. He talked like he was sixty... or from another planet. I didn't even want to think about the fact that the other adults couldn't see him. The only explanation I could come up with was that I was either off the deep end or someone had slipped me a hallucinogenic mickey. I had drifted off and was running the various possibilities around in my mind when he interrupted my train of thought.
“Do not indulge yourself in thinking...be with me. You can trust your senses. What you see is what is so. I know this is difficult," he said patiently "but we have little time. I cannot stay with you for long. Your life...your mind...is not suited." Suddenly I was uncontrollably angry. "Helter Skelter" off the Beatles White Album blasted from my subconsious. I turned away from him and stomped over to the other side of the playground. I didn't care who was watching. I was furious. I slammed my fist into the chain link fence so hard I cut my knuckles. I looked at the blood oozing over my fist and decided I had better get out of there. I charged over to Variety.
"You are the watcher. You are to watch and record. You see as an adult but you can love and be as a child. You live in both worlds. Only a few like you and the children can be shown the truth. "What truth?" Things were getting heavy. My hallucination was using the "T" word. "Your world is awakening, all life, like..." he looked in my eyes as if he was fishing for a metaphor "...like a butterfly leaving a cocoon. It will be very vulnerable for a while. It is a critical period. If you survive, your world will have..." he searched for the right words again "...will have a new life."
Now I wasn't really listening to this. My mind was desperately trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for this decidely unreasonable situation. The kid looked maybe five years old. He talked like he was sixty... or from another planet. I didn't even want to think about the fact that the other adults couldn't see him. The only explanation I could come up with was that I was either off the deep end or someone had slipped me a hallucinogenic mickey. I had drifted off and was running the various possibilities around in my mind when he interrupted my train of thought.
“Do not indulge yourself in thinking...be with me. You can trust your senses. What you see is what is so. I know this is difficult," he said patiently "but we have little time. I cannot stay with you for long. Your life...your mind...is not suited." Suddenly I was uncontrollably angry. "Helter Skelter" off the Beatles White Album blasted from my subconsious. I turned away from him and stomped over to the other side of the playground. I didn't care who was watching. I was furious. I slammed my fist into the chain link fence so hard I cut my knuckles. I looked at the blood oozing over my fist and decided I had better get out of there. I charged over to Variety.
< 13 >
"I think maybe I should go home." I said. I was choking on the words. Variety was clearly disturbed by my behavior. "I think you should let someone drive you Tom." I kept on walking. I mumbled something about being all right and practically ran to my truck. In a near panic, I started the old Ford and drove away as fast as I could. Z Z top was on the tape deck. I think the tune was "Manic Mechanic" off the Deguello album.
There I sat, full of angst and raging, pinned like some still struggling insect to the bottom of the great collector's cigar box. I felt an incredible black sorrow welling up in my heart. One that wouldn't dissipate no matter how I cried, no matter how I screamed. When I closed my eyes, my reality dissolved. I was the starving Ethiopian child, numb from hunger and malnutrition. I was his mother, sick at heart with helplessness and frustration, watching her child slip away.
I was the little girl in Brooklyn watching her father sit in front of the TV and drink, knowing she would wake in the night to find him running his sweaty hands over her quaking body. I felt the drunken lust and the cold, black pain of her father. I was a little boy in Tucson hiding under the sheets listening to the screams of his mother and the dull slap of his father's fists, knowing sooner or late, it would be my turn. I felt the mindless, violent fury of his father and the terror and helplessness of his mother. I lay dying in my own feces in an institution in Romania...hollow, mindless, having never known a kind hand, a caring touch...life having less value than the next bowl of watery porridge.
Faces swam before me. Their anger and desperation swelled in my breast. I felt their anger but mostly I felt their resignation, their sorrow, their pain. Young or old, they were dissapointed children to whom life had told a horrible lie. They thought someone, somewhere was going to love them and hold them and keep them safe. If they could just hold on. If they could just make another day.
There I sat, full of angst and raging, pinned like some still struggling insect to the bottom of the great collector's cigar box. I felt an incredible black sorrow welling up in my heart. One that wouldn't dissipate no matter how I cried, no matter how I screamed. When I closed my eyes, my reality dissolved. I was the starving Ethiopian child, numb from hunger and malnutrition. I was his mother, sick at heart with helplessness and frustration, watching her child slip away.
I was the little girl in Brooklyn watching her father sit in front of the TV and drink, knowing she would wake in the night to find him running his sweaty hands over her quaking body. I felt the drunken lust and the cold, black pain of her father. I was a little boy in Tucson hiding under the sheets listening to the screams of his mother and the dull slap of his father's fists, knowing sooner or late, it would be my turn. I felt the mindless, violent fury of his father and the terror and helplessness of his mother. I lay dying in my own feces in an institution in Romania...hollow, mindless, having never known a kind hand, a caring touch...life having less value than the next bowl of watery porridge.
Faces swam before me. Their anger and desperation swelled in my breast. I felt their anger but mostly I felt their resignation, their sorrow, their pain. Young or old, they were dissapointed children to whom life had told a horrible lie. They thought someone, somewhere was going to love them and hold them and keep them safe. If they could just hold on. If they could just make another day.
< 14 >
didn't know what was happening to me. I was in such pain, I fell on my hands and knees on the ground and was violently ill. I knew no one was coming. I knew there was no savior, no redemption, no forgiveness of sins. There was only horror on top of horror stacked to the bloody gates of heaven. The only thing we had to look forward to was the cold, murky nothingness of the grave, more pain...more blind, cold oblivion. My heart fell to depths I had never experienced. I didn't care if I lived or died. Nothing mattered, not my wife, my boys, nothing. My body and my eternal soul were more swill for the hogs of my childhood. I could hear my father's voice as I lay haunted and bitter on the musty earth.
I sat up and crawled over to the rock shelf. With my back stiff and my fingernails biting into my thighs, I forced my mind back to matters at hand. After a while, I decided I had limited choices. If my imaginary friend was legit, I needed to listen and get to work. It was clear enough from what he had said already that I was invited to a serious party. If he was the raving of my lunatic mind, I still needed to process whatever neurosis brought him into being. Once again, face him.
Fifteen minutes later I was on my way back to school. I had stopped to call the wife. Jessie's a great lady. I cooked up a weak story about what had happened at school and why I was coming home late. She didn't believe a word of it and told me so. Still, after exacting a promise that I would visit a doctor the next day, she let me off the hook without too many explanations. She said she'd be interested to hear about what was going on when I made it home. That's marriage shorthand for "If you expect to keep your manhood, you'll make a full and detailed report ASAP!"
I don't know why I thought I would have to return to the school to see him again. I guess I should have assumed he could pop in any old time he was ready, one of the advantages of being imaginary. Still after I got off the pay phone and crawled back in the Ford, I must have jumped a foot when he stuck his head in the window. "Hey Uncle Tom, could you buy me a Big Red?" He had that same cat ate the canary look on his face.
I sat up and crawled over to the rock shelf. With my back stiff and my fingernails biting into my thighs, I forced my mind back to matters at hand. After a while, I decided I had limited choices. If my imaginary friend was legit, I needed to listen and get to work. It was clear enough from what he had said already that I was invited to a serious party. If he was the raving of my lunatic mind, I still needed to process whatever neurosis brought him into being. Once again, face him.
Fifteen minutes later I was on my way back to school. I had stopped to call the wife. Jessie's a great lady. I cooked up a weak story about what had happened at school and why I was coming home late. She didn't believe a word of it and told me so. Still, after exacting a promise that I would visit a doctor the next day, she let me off the hook without too many explanations. She said she'd be interested to hear about what was going on when I made it home. That's marriage shorthand for "If you expect to keep your manhood, you'll make a full and detailed report ASAP!"
I don't know why I thought I would have to return to the school to see him again. I guess I should have assumed he could pop in any old time he was ready, one of the advantages of being imaginary. Still after I got off the pay phone and crawled back in the Ford, I must have jumped a foot when he stuck his head in the window. "Hey Uncle Tom, could you buy me a Big Red?" He had that same cat ate the canary look on his face.
< 15 >
I bought Big Reds for both of us. We sat in the truck, listened to Paul McCartney's Ram album and talked between slurps. I had a feeling the Big Red thing was a move to make me comfortable. That's okay, I needed it. I have strong childhood ties to the bonding available over the bright red creme soda bottled by "Perfection LTD". I did kind of wonder at the paradox of an invisible kid holding a visible soft drink. I wondered what someone else would see if they looked at us. I might have a hard time explaining a floating pop bottle.
"Now let me get this straight," I said "there's going to be some sort of child born who's coming to save the world, like the second coming..." "No," he interrupted "it is the child of your world, not an individual human. You would call it ... spirit or a conciousness." He had this habit of looking deep in my eyes when looking for words. My five year old gets that look when picking the next morsel out of his halloween candy bag. "The child is your connection to your...parents." "Parents?" I asked.
"Like your idea of parents, those that bring you into the world and nurture you...older worlds, who have a special interest in you. They have been your patrons." So if I was going to believe all this, and I didn't seem to have another plan at the moment, we were talking about "other worlds". I might get that ride on a starship yet. I figured I might as well get down to it. "Well who...or what or you?" I asked.
He smiled and tilted his head just like Sarah Glennon had done. "You know who I am Unca Tom...I'm your friend." He giggled and then got a bit more serious. "I am a guide and a companion. There are many of us. We are here to bring forth the Awakening." "There are others?" "Yes, many millions. All children up to six years old, many up to ten, a few as old as sixteen. A handful of adults." "There are other adults?" At least I wasn't the only one going nuts. "A very few. As I said, your minds are not suited to the process. It requires a great deal of energy and is dangerous. I cannot be with you often or long."
"Now let me get this straight," I said "there's going to be some sort of child born who's coming to save the world, like the second coming..." "No," he interrupted "it is the child of your world, not an individual human. You would call it ... spirit or a conciousness." He had this habit of looking deep in my eyes when looking for words. My five year old gets that look when picking the next morsel out of his halloween candy bag. "The child is your connection to your...parents." "Parents?" I asked.
"Like your idea of parents, those that bring you into the world and nurture you...older worlds, who have a special interest in you. They have been your patrons." So if I was going to believe all this, and I didn't seem to have another plan at the moment, we were talking about "other worlds". I might get that ride on a starship yet. I figured I might as well get down to it. "Well who...or what or you?" I asked.
He smiled and tilted his head just like Sarah Glennon had done. "You know who I am Unca Tom...I'm your friend." He giggled and then got a bit more serious. "I am a guide and a companion. There are many of us. We are here to bring forth the Awakening." "There are others?" "Yes, many millions. All children up to six years old, many up to ten, a few as old as sixteen. A handful of adults." "There are other adults?" At least I wasn't the only one going nuts. "A very few. As I said, your minds are not suited to the process. It requires a great deal of energy and is dangerous. I cannot be with you often or long."
< 16 >
"What's the purpose of this?" I asked "What's going to happen?" "Your world is being tested. The child must become dominant. It is a necessary stage in your development. The child will be able to make friends with other...other worlds. This is a big universe. There is much that you only dream about. Think of it as a coming of age trial." "What happens if we fail...and who is doing the judging?"
"Judging is something you adults do. We do not find it useful. We are your friends and patrons. Growing happens. All living beings meet tests every day. Consequences occur from our choices. It is that way for us all. Each Awakening is different. Those that fail are swallowed by the `gere'". You were in "the gere". It is all that is out of balance, all that harms the child. Many feel it now but will not face it. As the wound is opened, the pain will become intolerable. Either you will heal the wound or you will die of it."
"Other planets have gone through this?" I was still fascinated by the Buck Rogers possibilities. "Other worlds, yes. Not all of them are what you would call planets. More like your word civilizations. There are many universes. There is much you have to learn but now is not the time." "Well what am I supposed to do then?" I asked. "Be with the children. Do what you feel. Watch and record."
I started to worry that this deal was going to effect my life style. I had always wanted to write a book but this kid was one kinky literary agent."What about my job...I mean, when do I start? I mean how much time do I spend with the kids? Will they tell me what to write? How fast is this going to happen?" I was getting a bit frenetic. "You have already begun. You may write if you wish but mainly, follow your heart. You are a Sentinel. The children and other living things will tell you."
"Judging is something you adults do. We do not find it useful. We are your friends and patrons. Growing happens. All living beings meet tests every day. Consequences occur from our choices. It is that way for us all. Each Awakening is different. Those that fail are swallowed by the `gere'". You were in "the gere". It is all that is out of balance, all that harms the child. Many feel it now but will not face it. As the wound is opened, the pain will become intolerable. Either you will heal the wound or you will die of it."
"Other planets have gone through this?" I was still fascinated by the Buck Rogers possibilities. "Other worlds, yes. Not all of them are what you would call planets. More like your word civilizations. There are many universes. There is much you have to learn but now is not the time." "Well what am I supposed to do then?" I asked. "Be with the children. Do what you feel. Watch and record."
I started to worry that this deal was going to effect my life style. I had always wanted to write a book but this kid was one kinky literary agent."What about my job...I mean, when do I start? I mean how much time do I spend with the kids? Will they tell me what to write? How fast is this going to happen?" I was getting a bit frenetic. "You have already begun. You may write if you wish but mainly, follow your heart. You are a Sentinel. The children and other living things will tell you."
< 17 >
He looked over at me and added. "You must remember this, when you are lost, trust the child within...return to your heart." His words struck like an electric jolt. "Oh, and I must tell you, the other life of this world will aid you and the children. Be careful with their lives, many of them are vulnerable. You must protect and serve them." I started to ask another question and turned to him. I saw a strange look in his eyes and then "ffffffooooop" the little black boy was gone.
I looked around for the Big Red bottle and it was nowhere to be found. Imaginary or not, I was glad I wasn't holdin' hands with him when he decided to take a powder. I stood under the haggard skeleton of a tree, lifeless and bare, and looked up at a swirling and dangerous sky. Dark, threatening clouds tumbled past with unnatural speed, giving me an unnerving sense of the earth's spin. For a moment, I was struck by vertigo and feared I would be thrown off like some kind of insect into the boiling cauldron above. I tore my eyes away from the heavens and shuddered, afraid of what else I might have to confront.
There was a hollow phosphorescence hanging on the surrounding landscape. I shivered as my eyes focused where the cold light lay on a decrepit wrought iron fence immediately in front of me. The rusted old barricade contained a single gravestone, all chipped and covered with mildew and lichen. The marker was almost entirely swallowed by a snarl of thorny vines. It tilted sideways, threatening to capsize as the roots pushed mercilessly from below.
A deep, frozen terror was building in my stomach. I held it down as I lifted the latch on the gate and walked into the small compound. I knelt in front of the grave and tried to read the inscription on the stone. As I brushed the surface with my fingers, trying to scrape away the lichen that obscured the worn epitath, I came too close to one of the thorns and felt a sharp pain in my finger. I jerked my hand back and holding my wrist somewhat shakily, examined the cut.
I looked around for the Big Red bottle and it was nowhere to be found. Imaginary or not, I was glad I wasn't holdin' hands with him when he decided to take a powder. I stood under the haggard skeleton of a tree, lifeless and bare, and looked up at a swirling and dangerous sky. Dark, threatening clouds tumbled past with unnatural speed, giving me an unnerving sense of the earth's spin. For a moment, I was struck by vertigo and feared I would be thrown off like some kind of insect into the boiling cauldron above. I tore my eyes away from the heavens and shuddered, afraid of what else I might have to confront.
There was a hollow phosphorescence hanging on the surrounding landscape. I shivered as my eyes focused where the cold light lay on a decrepit wrought iron fence immediately in front of me. The rusted old barricade contained a single gravestone, all chipped and covered with mildew and lichen. The marker was almost entirely swallowed by a snarl of thorny vines. It tilted sideways, threatening to capsize as the roots pushed mercilessly from below.
A deep, frozen terror was building in my stomach. I held it down as I lifted the latch on the gate and walked into the small compound. I knelt in front of the grave and tried to read the inscription on the stone. As I brushed the surface with my fingers, trying to scrape away the lichen that obscured the worn epitath, I came too close to one of the thorns and felt a sharp pain in my finger. I jerked my hand back and holding my wrist somewhat shakily, examined the cut.
< 18 >
A single drop of blood formed on my index finger. I put the finger to my lips and sucked away the salty fluid. As I did so, it began to bleed more profusely. My finger began to gush so copiously that that my mouth filled with blood. It forced open my lips and ran down my chin. I tried to form a tourniquet with my other hand to no avail. The gore was flooding out of my finger, running down my chest and lap and splattering all over the dried grass and briar. I began to panic, thinking I would bleed to death. Still the flow continued unabated. It ran like water from a hose. I jumped up screaming and waved my wrist in the air madly, blood spewing in all directions.
Wildly I called out, "Stop! I don't have any more. There's no more left!" Still the flood gushed onto the landscape, covering the gravestone and the ragged metal fence. Blood splashed onto the withered trunk of the old tree, washing in torrents over the rotting root structure and covering the landscape. My blood, the blood of my father and his father...the very life of all my ancestors poured out, converting the hollow landscape into a ghastly field of war. Corpses writhed and screamed in pain and horror.
Atrocities more horrible than anything I could imagine shattered limbs and body parts. Cruel torturers, covered in dried gore, stood with their hands in the bowels of the innocent, a powerfully sexual edge to their laughter. Every cruelty, every horror, every twisted, diseased act in the history of man displayed itself before me. I stood transfixed, past fear, past pain, past revulsion. A slow anger mounted in the pit of my stomach. I breath in. The foul atmosphere gurgled down my throat.
They looked up startled, dropping their implements of death and torture, a look of confusion and fear in their eyes. I opened my mouth again and a single note erupted from my throat, tearing a swath through their ranks like a lighting bolt. They backed up in surprise. I felt a rush of righteous power. I prepared to strike again but before I could open my mouth, I noticed they were looking behind me.
Wildly I called out, "Stop! I don't have any more. There's no more left!" Still the flood gushed onto the landscape, covering the gravestone and the ragged metal fence. Blood splashed onto the withered trunk of the old tree, washing in torrents over the rotting root structure and covering the landscape. My blood, the blood of my father and his father...the very life of all my ancestors poured out, converting the hollow landscape into a ghastly field of war. Corpses writhed and screamed in pain and horror.
Atrocities more horrible than anything I could imagine shattered limbs and body parts. Cruel torturers, covered in dried gore, stood with their hands in the bowels of the innocent, a powerfully sexual edge to their laughter. Every cruelty, every horror, every twisted, diseased act in the history of man displayed itself before me. I stood transfixed, past fear, past pain, past revulsion. A slow anger mounted in the pit of my stomach. I breath in. The foul atmosphere gurgled down my throat.
They looked up startled, dropping their implements of death and torture, a look of confusion and fear in their eyes. I opened my mouth again and a single note erupted from my throat, tearing a swath through their ranks like a lighting bolt. They backed up in surprise. I felt a rush of righteous power. I prepared to strike again but before I could open my mouth, I noticed they were looking behind me.
< 19 >
I turned and saw the children coming. The were walking towards me from over the horizen, millions of them. The sky was dark with immense flocks of birds flying above them. Mixed in their numbers were all the animals of the earth, foot and claw, hoof and paw, they marched together and from them all came the same clear note, a single trumpet call that shattered the evil before them like imperfect glass.
As I watched this awesome scene, a single golden bird detached itself from the flocks and fluttered lightly onto a limb of the old tree above me. As the ocean of children washed away the blood and horror, I felt a great calm and sat on the ground, now alive with new growth and looked up into the tree. Fresh sprigs were popping out of the old limbs, infant leaves springing up to meet the sunlight falling from the clearing sky. I looked at the golden bird, its feathers glowing in the new fallen light. It sparkled and gleamed as if it were a sliver of the sun itself.
As I stared in rapt wonder, the bird leaned off the limb where it rested and flew directly at my face. I recoiled and threw out my hands to protect myself but was too late. The tiny bird hit me full in my right eye, splashing on my consciousness with an explosion of light. I fell back on the ground. As my vision cleared, I looked in wonder at the world. Each leaf and stone, each cloud and breeze seemed an expression of a brilliant and magical whole. I crawled onto my knees and stroked the tops of the grass, marveling at the miracles below me. Fresh, new living things sprouted everywhere, Stretching upward towards the lifegiving sun.
I picked up a tiny insect and laughed in astonishment and surprise at the unbelievable phenomenon of his locomotion. He sprang off my finger and back into the wonderland at my feet. Several animals milled around me on the meadow. I knew them in some impossible way. I shared some bond that left us all safe, comfortable and unwary. Looking over the radiant landscape, I felt the presence of billions and billions of minds bonded in love and common purpose. In this state of boundless and inexplicable joy, I sprang to my feet and cried aloud, my heart bursting with passion and delight.
As I watched this awesome scene, a single golden bird detached itself from the flocks and fluttered lightly onto a limb of the old tree above me. As the ocean of children washed away the blood and horror, I felt a great calm and sat on the ground, now alive with new growth and looked up into the tree. Fresh sprigs were popping out of the old limbs, infant leaves springing up to meet the sunlight falling from the clearing sky. I looked at the golden bird, its feathers glowing in the new fallen light. It sparkled and gleamed as if it were a sliver of the sun itself.
As I stared in rapt wonder, the bird leaned off the limb where it rested and flew directly at my face. I recoiled and threw out my hands to protect myself but was too late. The tiny bird hit me full in my right eye, splashing on my consciousness with an explosion of light. I fell back on the ground. As my vision cleared, I looked in wonder at the world. Each leaf and stone, each cloud and breeze seemed an expression of a brilliant and magical whole. I crawled onto my knees and stroked the tops of the grass, marveling at the miracles below me. Fresh, new living things sprouted everywhere, Stretching upward towards the lifegiving sun.
I picked up a tiny insect and laughed in astonishment and surprise at the unbelievable phenomenon of his locomotion. He sprang off my finger and back into the wonderland at my feet. Several animals milled around me on the meadow. I knew them in some impossible way. I shared some bond that left us all safe, comfortable and unwary. Looking over the radiant landscape, I felt the presence of billions and billions of minds bonded in love and common purpose. In this state of boundless and inexplicable joy, I sprang to my feet and cried aloud, my heart bursting with passion and delight.
< 20 >
I cantered across the countryside like a young colt, jumping and tumbling, my body feeling young and powerful, celebration coming from every pore. As I passed a small wood, a naked little black boy stepped out from behind an immense chinaberry tree. He walked up to me, his eyes filled with affection, and touched my cheek. I felt his selfless love and admiration for me.
I threw off the covers and walked into the bathroom to take my shower. As the cold water hit me I sorted through the circumstances of the new life that stood before me. I had been changed by the events of the past sixteen hours. By the time I finished my bath, shaved and dressed, I was pretty clear about one thing...I had no idea what to do next. On the other hand, I had a pretty good idea that whatever it was, it was going to create a disruption in my family.
These days, my darling wife is a professional woman who appreciates the finer things. She is the managing partner of a small but lethal downtown law firm. Jessie's a nice lady, but if you cross her she can hand you your family jewels on a silver platter in such a way that you know it's only the first course. I was a little apprehensive, to say the least, about the conversation I knew was coming. I'm a big guy. At 6'6" and weighing about 230, I don't need to be scared of most things, but Jessie...well Jessie scares me to death.
I was a little concerned she might not understand when I told her I was closing my business to go watch an alien inspired children's rebellion I knew was coming due to advance information I received from my invisible " kitchen. I'm the only male she allows the indulgence of traditional female nicknames. Her law partners love to tell stories about various chauvenistic legal types who have dared to address her as "Honey or Sweetheart" and found out how un"sweet" she can be. The woman makes allowances for me. I appreciate that.
I threw off the covers and walked into the bathroom to take my shower. As the cold water hit me I sorted through the circumstances of the new life that stood before me. I had been changed by the events of the past sixteen hours. By the time I finished my bath, shaved and dressed, I was pretty clear about one thing...I had no idea what to do next. On the other hand, I had a pretty good idea that whatever it was, it was going to create a disruption in my family.
These days, my darling wife is a professional woman who appreciates the finer things. She is the managing partner of a small but lethal downtown law firm. Jessie's a nice lady, but if you cross her she can hand you your family jewels on a silver platter in such a way that you know it's only the first course. I was a little apprehensive, to say the least, about the conversation I knew was coming. I'm a big guy. At 6'6" and weighing about 230, I don't need to be scared of most things, but Jessie...well Jessie scares me to death.
I was a little concerned she might not understand when I told her I was closing my business to go watch an alien inspired children's rebellion I knew was coming due to advance information I received from my invisible " kitchen. I'm the only male she allows the indulgence of traditional female nicknames. Her law partners love to tell stories about various chauvenistic legal types who have dared to address her as "Honey or Sweetheart" and found out how un"sweet" she can be. The woman makes allowances for me. I appreciate that.
< 21 >
"Good Morning," she looked at me quizzically after pulling the bagels out of the oven. "How are you feeling?" "Great, fine, awesome!" I embarrassed myself with my nervous overeaction. Now she'd be on me like mosquitos at a beach party. I walked into the living room and put Stevie Wonder on the stereo, Songs in the Key of Life, then walked back into the kitchen. She poured some coffee for us both. I knew I was trapped. Much as I wanted to, I knew there was no dodging her. "So tell me," she said "what's going on?"
I was doomed. I spilled my guts like a twelve year old caught with a girly magazine. I told her everything, the naked little black boy, the fainting on the playground, the scab on my fist, the sitting place, the visit in the parking lot and the dream. I said I knew it sounded crazy but I had to go with it. I said I wasn't sick, I knew it wasn't a hallucination and I wasn't any crazier than I had ever been. She rolled her eyes at that one...a good sign. I could tell I was scaring her but so far she hadn't made her mind up that I had flipped out or she wouldn't have shown any reaction at all.
From time to time she asked questions, particularly about my conversations with my imaginary friend. I answered as best I could. Parts of the conversation on the playground were cloudy. It was odd, something else seemed to be on her mind. After a while I asked her. "Is something else bothering you Jess?" "This is so crazy." She began. I started to defend myself. "No, I don't mean your story, it's Joseph..." I didn't see what our youngest had to do with this conversation. "What about Joey?" I asked.
"Of course," I thought "Joey's only five, he would get a friend." Yet it shook me to think that kind of intrusion could happen to my own child. Somehow it felt as if he was being taken away from me. It also tore once again at my sense of order. If Joey had a friend too, how could it all be a delusion. It meant this was really happening. I couldn't very well make up a friend for Joey no matter how wild my imagination got. "Curiouser and curiouser." I thought. I walked over and held Jessie in my arms 'till she stopped shaking. I handed her a tissue and poured her another cup of coffee.
I was doomed. I spilled my guts like a twelve year old caught with a girly magazine. I told her everything, the naked little black boy, the fainting on the playground, the scab on my fist, the sitting place, the visit in the parking lot and the dream. I said I knew it sounded crazy but I had to go with it. I said I wasn't sick, I knew it wasn't a hallucination and I wasn't any crazier than I had ever been. She rolled her eyes at that one...a good sign. I could tell I was scaring her but so far she hadn't made her mind up that I had flipped out or she wouldn't have shown any reaction at all.
From time to time she asked questions, particularly about my conversations with my imaginary friend. I answered as best I could. Parts of the conversation on the playground were cloudy. It was odd, something else seemed to be on her mind. After a while I asked her. "Is something else bothering you Jess?" "This is so crazy." She began. I started to defend myself. "No, I don't mean your story, it's Joseph..." I didn't see what our youngest had to do with this conversation. "What about Joey?" I asked.
"Of course," I thought "Joey's only five, he would get a friend." Yet it shook me to think that kind of intrusion could happen to my own child. Somehow it felt as if he was being taken away from me. It also tore once again at my sense of order. If Joey had a friend too, how could it all be a delusion. It meant this was really happening. I couldn't very well make up a friend for Joey no matter how wild my imagination got. "Curiouser and curiouser." I thought. I walked over and held Jessie in my arms 'till she stopped shaking. I handed her a tissue and poured her another cup of coffee.
< 22 >
"What do you mean, he says we have to leave." I asked. "His friend says there will be trouble here. He says we have to leave the city...go somewhere where we'll be safe. Joseph says it's someplace by a cave and a waterfall. He says many of the children will go there. He says they will need us...My God Tom, how can this be happening." She was hyperventilating.
"It's really real mom." Joey was standing in the doorway with our monster golden retriever Jubal Harshaw Rappaport. Our son had the strangest look on his face. "Did you know Jubie can talk?" Jessie blinked at Joey like he had sprouted horns or announced he was pregnant and began to weave back and forth holding her breath. I was afraid it was her turn to pass out. I should have known; she's tougher than me. "Thomas," she gasped as she darted from the room. "I have to get dressed. Would you pour the juice?"
Historically, Saturday mornings in our house follow a set pattern. Jessie and I get up pretty early and read the paper. The boys sleep in, then drag themselves out of bed to veg out on cartoons. Yeah, cartoons...I never said I was the perfect parent. I gave up on limiting their Saturday morning coma when the oldest pointed out my addiction to the morning paper as a similar social problem.
A while back, Radio (that's what we call him) pointed out, that both came in the morning, both had bad guys and good guys, both were trying to sell you something, both had super heroes (look at the sports section) and "after all" he said "you've been saying nothing in the papers was real ever since I can remember. So what's the difference between your cartoons and mine?".
"It's really real mom." Joey was standing in the doorway with our monster golden retriever Jubal Harshaw Rappaport. Our son had the strangest look on his face. "Did you know Jubie can talk?" Jessie blinked at Joey like he had sprouted horns or announced he was pregnant and began to weave back and forth holding her breath. I was afraid it was her turn to pass out. I should have known; she's tougher than me. "Thomas," she gasped as she darted from the room. "I have to get dressed. Would you pour the juice?"
Historically, Saturday mornings in our house follow a set pattern. Jessie and I get up pretty early and read the paper. The boys sleep in, then drag themselves out of bed to veg out on cartoons. Yeah, cartoons...I never said I was the perfect parent. I gave up on limiting their Saturday morning coma when the oldest pointed out my addiction to the morning paper as a similar social problem.
A while back, Radio (that's what we call him) pointed out, that both came in the morning, both had bad guys and good guys, both were trying to sell you something, both had super heroes (look at the sports section) and "after all" he said "you've been saying nothing in the papers was real ever since I can remember. So what's the difference between your cartoons and mine?".
< 23 >
This Saturday however things were going a little different. Jessie was at overload, about to throw a brain breaker, so she went off to take a shower and put on her makeup. That's how she collects her thoughts. It's a process akin to a medieval knight putting on armor. I knew she needed the time out, so Joey and I...and Jubie just sat in the kitchen and visited. I put on Revolver, Joey likes the old Beatles albums.
"So Jubie can talk..." I asked "what does he say?" "Whatever he wants, you know like about his food and about us and about the cats...he doesn't use words, he talks in pictures, and know what?" Five-year-olds are always testing your knowledge. "He can tell me if he's sad or scared or mad or happy... He's sad and scared now." Joey looked troubled.
"My friend says Jubie can feel the children hurting too...and the animals hurting." Tears spilled from his eyes as he ran to me. My heart came flying into my throat. "Dad, we gotta save 'em, Dad somebody's hurting them." Jubie followed Joey right up to my lap with an alert protectiveness. He stuck his head between us, almost forcing us apart. I was too preoccupied with comforting Joey to think much about it.
Besides, I could hear the voices again...Calling. My stomach balled into a knot. As Joey wept in my lap, I was overcome by a crushing sadness. Tears came to my eyes. We sat there in the kitchen for several minutes, holding each other, wishing we could push the voices away, grasping for some relief in each others arms. "Not my child!" I kept thinking "You can't have my child." But it was too late. Whatever it was, the Awakening had my child...and me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt lost. I just wanted those voices to go away.
"So Jubie can talk..." I asked "what does he say?" "Whatever he wants, you know like about his food and about us and about the cats...he doesn't use words, he talks in pictures, and know what?" Five-year-olds are always testing your knowledge. "He can tell me if he's sad or scared or mad or happy... He's sad and scared now." Joey looked troubled.
"My friend says Jubie can feel the children hurting too...and the animals hurting." Tears spilled from his eyes as he ran to me. My heart came flying into my throat. "Dad, we gotta save 'em, Dad somebody's hurting them." Jubie followed Joey right up to my lap with an alert protectiveness. He stuck his head between us, almost forcing us apart. I was too preoccupied with comforting Joey to think much about it.
Besides, I could hear the voices again...Calling. My stomach balled into a knot. As Joey wept in my lap, I was overcome by a crushing sadness. Tears came to my eyes. We sat there in the kitchen for several minutes, holding each other, wishing we could push the voices away, grasping for some relief in each others arms. "Not my child!" I kept thinking "You can't have my child." But it was too late. Whatever it was, the Awakening had my child...and me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt lost. I just wanted those voices to go away.
< 24 >
Joey and I rocked in each others arms, letting more and more of it go until we were caterwauling like Italians at a funeral. Jubie started whining and snuffling along with us 'till finally, he pulled his head back and let out an at the dog dumbfounded. Finally the incredible wail came to an end. Jubie look at us self consciously, then walked over to his water bowl. There was a new atmosphere in the room. Joey and I looked at each other.
"Dog Fart!" screamed Joey. We tumbled off the chair puffing and gasping into the next room and plopped laughing on the couch, howling so hard we could barely catch our breaths. I kept trying to quit but every time our eyes met, an avalanche of laughter came rumbling out of my stomach until I lay helpless on the ground. "Dog fart...dog fart." Joey kept mumbling between screams. It was almost like we were exhaling the sadness and terror we fully on the carpet. Shortly, Joey sat up and gave me a look of thoughtful consideration, another facial expression I hadn't previously seen on him.
"Good Mornin' Radio." I reached over and patted him on the back. He started mumbling some nonstop story about weird dreams and video game characters and how weird his brother was and moved off to the kitchen. I heard the juice pour. There was a muffled "Quit it Jubie!". Our dog habit of sticking his cold nose in your crotch in greeting. Joey and I smothered our giggles. Side one of Revolver was over so I put some Keith Jarrett on to soften things up, Staircase album, side two, "Hourglass".
"Oh it was tough! Did Mom tell you Joey flipped out, Dad? He truly took made up about some kid who isn't there and like we couldn't get him off it. I think it was the fish sticks we ate yesterday. They were soft when they came out of the freezer. I told Mom but she wouldn't listen... Noooooooo, not to dumb little Radio and now I've got a brother from outer space. How would you like that? What am I supposed to tell my friends. I knew we weren't supposed to eat soggy fish, probably got brain botulism..."
"Dog Fart!" screamed Joey. We tumbled off the chair puffing and gasping into the next room and plopped laughing on the couch, howling so hard we could barely catch our breaths. I kept trying to quit but every time our eyes met, an avalanche of laughter came rumbling out of my stomach until I lay helpless on the ground. "Dog fart...dog fart." Joey kept mumbling between screams. It was almost like we were exhaling the sadness and terror we fully on the carpet. Shortly, Joey sat up and gave me a look of thoughtful consideration, another facial expression I hadn't previously seen on him.
"Good Mornin' Radio." I reached over and patted him on the back. He started mumbling some nonstop story about weird dreams and video game characters and how weird his brother was and moved off to the kitchen. I heard the juice pour. There was a muffled "Quit it Jubie!". Our dog habit of sticking his cold nose in your crotch in greeting. Joey and I smothered our giggles. Side one of Revolver was over so I put some Keith Jarrett on to soften things up, Staircase album, side two, "Hourglass".
"Oh it was tough! Did Mom tell you Joey flipped out, Dad? He truly took made up about some kid who isn't there and like we couldn't get him off it. I think it was the fish sticks we ate yesterday. They were soft when they came out of the freezer. I told Mom but she wouldn't listen... Noooooooo, not to dumb little Radio and now I've got a brother from outer space. How would you like that? What am I supposed to tell my friends. I knew we weren't supposed to eat soggy fish, probably got brain botulism..."
< 25 >
Now you will notice that this answer seems to have little to do with the question I asked. However, from experience I know that it is less painful to wait than to try to redirect. He eventually gets around to it. Also you must understand that the boy talks at a rate an auctioneer would envy so he can put out a lot of words in a short time. It helps to tune in on about every fifth sentence.
"...so anyway, when I went to bed I figured it was off to the shrink with Joey tomorrow then POW! I have this dream. It was sooooo awesome. I was in, man we are walkin' along and there were like animals with us like dogs and horses and stuff and we were kickin' butt! We all sang this loud song like hurricane or somethin' but it shredded these guys, I mean we were doggin' 'em and when we passed it was like you know on a Disney film, everything was beautiful an fresh and growin..."
My breath caught in my throat as he stormed through the story. What was Radio doing in my dream? Why had my family been singled out for these messages? Was it because I was a Sentinel? Suddenly I had a scary thought. I muttered "excuse me Radio" and walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Radio didn't even break stride. I called Variety. She already knows I'm crazy. Besides, she's one of those friends that I could say anything to and get away with it. Her youngest, Tulli, picked up the phone.
"Lo...who is it?" Classy phone technique for a two year old. "Hi Tulli, It's Uncle Tom, can you let me speak to your mom?""It's reeeally Ucca Tom?" She did a security check. Can't let just anybody get through to the queen. "Yes, sweetheart, go get your Mom." This went on for a while. Parents who let their toddlers answer the phone are out to punish the hurried in the most fiendish ways. Finally Tulli decided dominating me was getting boring and dropped the phone. I could hear her calling Variety. "Tom" she sounded frazzled "Are you okay?" "Yes ma'am, I'm fine. Sorry I scared you yesterday. There is some stuff goin' that I need to talk to you about."
"...so anyway, when I went to bed I figured it was off to the shrink with Joey tomorrow then POW! I have this dream. It was sooooo awesome. I was in, man we are walkin' along and there were like animals with us like dogs and horses and stuff and we were kickin' butt! We all sang this loud song like hurricane or somethin' but it shredded these guys, I mean we were doggin' 'em and when we passed it was like you know on a Disney film, everything was beautiful an fresh and growin..."
My breath caught in my throat as he stormed through the story. What was Radio doing in my dream? Why had my family been singled out for these messages? Was it because I was a Sentinel? Suddenly I had a scary thought. I muttered "excuse me Radio" and walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Radio didn't even break stride. I called Variety. She already knows I'm crazy. Besides, she's one of those friends that I could say anything to and get away with it. Her youngest, Tulli, picked up the phone.
"Lo...who is it?" Classy phone technique for a two year old. "Hi Tulli, It's Uncle Tom, can you let me speak to your mom?""It's reeeally Ucca Tom?" She did a security check. Can't let just anybody get through to the queen. "Yes, sweetheart, go get your Mom." This went on for a while. Parents who let their toddlers answer the phone are out to punish the hurried in the most fiendish ways. Finally Tulli decided dominating me was getting boring and dropped the phone. I could hear her calling Variety. "Tom" she sounded frazzled "Are you okay?" "Yes ma'am, I'm fine. Sorry I scared you yesterday. There is some stuff goin' that I need to talk to you about."
< 26 >
"Lots," I said "one thing is that I had this strange dream last night." I started to tell her about the dream, got about half way into it and she interrupted me. "Somethin's goin' on Tom, somethin' not kosher. You know something don't you. That's almost the same dream John Jr. had last night. He jumped out of bed talkin' about it. What do you know?" "More than I want to Variety. Does Tulli have an imaginary friend?" There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally she said "What do you know about that Tom, no games, what do you know?" She sounded very cold and dangerous.
"It's okay Variety, at least I guess it is. Joey's got one too. All the preschoolers do. Something big's about to happen. Something that will change everything. Listen girl, I think you need to give some credibility to what the imaginary friend says. Tulli's not nuts. The friend is real." Whatever real is, I thought to myself. "How do you know that, Tom?" "Yesterday, when we were on the playground..." "Yeah?" She sounded suspicious.
She was quiet once again. She's rock steady in crisis, I knew she wouldn't act, or even talk until she was clear of the threat. "Listen Variety, I think they really are our friends, or at least the friends of our children. I don't kind of social revolution." I didn't know what else to say. I didn't really have any idea what was going on. I decided I better get off the phone before I dug myself in any deeper. "I gotta go, things are nuts here but I think you ought to listen to Tulli." I hung up.
I walked out into the back yard to visit with Jubie and clear my head. So the "dream" was going around and judging from Variety's reactions, so are the wife loves Van Morrison. I picked the "Inarticulate Speech of the Heart" album. Jessie was dressed and sitting on the couch talking to Joey. She was intense but calm. She was shushing Radio and asking one question after another preceded by the phrase, "Joey, ask your friend..."
"It's okay Variety, at least I guess it is. Joey's got one too. All the preschoolers do. Something big's about to happen. Something that will change everything. Listen girl, I think you need to give some credibility to what the imaginary friend says. Tulli's not nuts. The friend is real." Whatever real is, I thought to myself. "How do you know that, Tom?" "Yesterday, when we were on the playground..." "Yeah?" She sounded suspicious.
She was quiet once again. She's rock steady in crisis, I knew she wouldn't act, or even talk until she was clear of the threat. "Listen Variety, I think they really are our friends, or at least the friends of our children. I don't kind of social revolution." I didn't know what else to say. I didn't really have any idea what was going on. I decided I better get off the phone before I dug myself in any deeper. "I gotta go, things are nuts here but I think you ought to listen to Tulli." I hung up.
I walked out into the back yard to visit with Jubie and clear my head. So the "dream" was going around and judging from Variety's reactions, so are the wife loves Van Morrison. I picked the "Inarticulate Speech of the Heart" album. Jessie was dressed and sitting on the couch talking to Joey. She was intense but calm. She was shushing Radio and asking one question after another preceded by the phrase, "Joey, ask your friend..."
< 27 >
I told her about my conversation with Variety. She was quiet for a moment, then said "Honey, I did some thinking in the shower. I don't believe it serves us to avoid the reality of what is happening. If I am clear about what Joey's friend is saying, things could get dicey very quickly. I'm afraid that we could be at risk."
"What do you suggest." I love it when she manages things. She's generous enough to pretend to my authority in the household and the kids are generous enough not to rub the pretense in my face. The truth is she's quicker and more practical. I have learned to trust her instincts and follow her lead. "I'm afraid we must take a defensive posture. I think we should put out feelers to friends and people who can be trusted, people who have children and who, if Variety is any indication, should be in the middle of the same mess.
I watched her as she visited with Joey. Her auburn hair bobbed at her shoulders, simply cut and worn naturally in the fashion of the day. On the sunset side of forty, she was still one fine looking woman. She's a lady of glorious proportions, close to 5'10", with a big, ripe body that is my everlasting pleasure and her everlasting embarrassment. Why is it that women always want to be 5'4", skinny and blonde? I've been following her around drooling like a hound in heat for almost twenty years and she still worries about her looks. I don't try to understand women anymore. I just enjoy them.
I think children ought to get more respect, but that doesn't mean I woke up after that goofy dream ready to hand over the reigns. It's pretty easy being a gadfly to society when all you have to do is stand back and criticize. It's something else when you are confronted with having things the way you think they should be. For the first time in my life, I was losing control of my children. I didn't like it one bit. "Shooee...what a soapbox. You really do like to indulge in thinking don't you." The little black boy, still naked, sat on the back of the reclining chair not three feet from where Jessie was quizzing Joey. "Do you really think it makes any difference what your opinions are?"
"What do you suggest." I love it when she manages things. She's generous enough to pretend to my authority in the household and the kids are generous enough not to rub the pretense in my face. The truth is she's quicker and more practical. I have learned to trust her instincts and follow her lead. "I'm afraid we must take a defensive posture. I think we should put out feelers to friends and people who can be trusted, people who have children and who, if Variety is any indication, should be in the middle of the same mess.
I watched her as she visited with Joey. Her auburn hair bobbed at her shoulders, simply cut and worn naturally in the fashion of the day. On the sunset side of forty, she was still one fine looking woman. She's a lady of glorious proportions, close to 5'10", with a big, ripe body that is my everlasting pleasure and her everlasting embarrassment. Why is it that women always want to be 5'4", skinny and blonde? I've been following her around drooling like a hound in heat for almost twenty years and she still worries about her looks. I don't try to understand women anymore. I just enjoy them.
I think children ought to get more respect, but that doesn't mean I woke up after that goofy dream ready to hand over the reigns. It's pretty easy being a gadfly to society when all you have to do is stand back and criticize. It's something else when you are confronted with having things the way you think they should be. For the first time in my life, I was losing control of my children. I didn't like it one bit. "Shooee...what a soapbox. You really do like to indulge in thinking don't you." The little black boy, still naked, sat on the back of the reclining chair not three feet from where Jessie was quizzing Joey. "Do you really think it makes any difference what your opinions are?"
< 28 >
It was still an eerie sensation that no one else was aware of his presence. Jesse, Radio and Joey were engrossed in their conversation and didn't even look up. "It's automatic," I said "I think, therefore I am." "Descartes o' nine tails, that's what it is. It's self flagellation. You need to lighten up. Your role is ordained. All of this worrying and fretting won't put food on the table or bring you sexual liasons. Just 'be' with the situation." He wasn't struggling for idioms any longer.
"You're big on advice for a figment of my imagination." I was beginning to feel hostile. I put an old Iron Butterfly album called Ball on the stereo and skipped the first track on side one and played "Soul Experience". Jesse made me turn it down. My friend wouldn't shutup. "You use precious time discounting me. Work harder. Time is short. You waste your energy on resistance. I repeat, listening is a more appropriate use of your time than thinking. Be in the present."
Now Jesse still lives with me for one reason. I'm trainable. She knows that if she keeps a steady shoe to my lumbar region, I'll move down the right road. I operate like a prime mule, hard as hell to get started, but real game after I've decided to pull the plow. I took a deep breath and looked at the little guy. "Okay, what do I need to do?"
"Nothing," he smiled "just listen." He ffoooped off. Jesse was sitting back in her chair with Radio's head on her lap. She looked thoughtful...sort of like Eisenhower must have looked thoughtful just before D-day. "Thomas, I want you to call a few people."
"You're big on advice for a figment of my imagination." I was beginning to feel hostile. I put an old Iron Butterfly album called Ball on the stereo and skipped the first track on side one and played "Soul Experience". Jesse made me turn it down. My friend wouldn't shutup. "You use precious time discounting me. Work harder. Time is short. You waste your energy on resistance. I repeat, listening is a more appropriate use of your time than thinking. Be in the present."
Now Jesse still lives with me for one reason. I'm trainable. She knows that if she keeps a steady shoe to my lumbar region, I'll move down the right road. I operate like a prime mule, hard as hell to get started, but real game after I've decided to pull the plow. I took a deep breath and looked at the little guy. "Okay, what do I need to do?"
"Nothing," he smiled "just listen." He ffoooped off. Jesse was sitting back in her chair with Radio's head on her lap. She looked thoughtful...sort of like Eisenhower must have looked thoughtful just before D-day. "Thomas, I want you to call a few people."
< 29 >
On Monday, St. Maddy's was in an uproar, teacher's at wit's end, parents lining up in the halls. Strange things were going on and everybody was talking about it. Standing by the door as I walked in were an odd assortment of yuppie mothers, various black and brown wardie parents and a slim, dark and handsome guy in a silk suit who looked like something out of a clothing advertisement.
Standing over to one side was a rough looking Hispanic kid, clearly gang material. He assessed me with a feral look like he was searching for a good place to stick a knife. Sarah Glennon's mother recognized me and came walking over. "Tonight at your house, right?" she whispered covertly. I nodded. She looked frayed at the edges. Mary Glennon is an intensive care nurse. It takes a lot to shake her up but then she hadn't slept in the last 36 hours. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leaned against me for support.
Our house is just off the bayou around Hermann Park, a large inner city natural area. Our lot is covered in trees that obscure the house from the street. Our back yard is right off the park. About three Saturday afternoon, I put on Rickie Lee Jones' first album, switched on the outside speakers and walked out on the back porch to clear my head. There had been a light shower. I like to go outdoors after a rain. Things feel fresh. Its the only time most of the smog gets washed out of the Houston air.
As I ambled around the corner of the garage, I found myself face to face with a large and decidedly nervous dappled mare. The horse and I froze and stood looking into each others' wild eyes for a second, then she reared up right in my face and I backed up in a panic. I tripped over an old case of motor oil and landed like a sack of potatoes on the ground. Two open oil cans from the last time I drained my crankcase splashed all over me.
Standing over to one side was a rough looking Hispanic kid, clearly gang material. He assessed me with a feral look like he was searching for a good place to stick a knife. Sarah Glennon's mother recognized me and came walking over. "Tonight at your house, right?" she whispered covertly. I nodded. She looked frayed at the edges. Mary Glennon is an intensive care nurse. It takes a lot to shake her up but then she hadn't slept in the last 36 hours. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leaned against me for support.
Our house is just off the bayou around Hermann Park, a large inner city natural area. Our lot is covered in trees that obscure the house from the street. Our back yard is right off the park. About three Saturday afternoon, I put on Rickie Lee Jones' first album, switched on the outside speakers and walked out on the back porch to clear my head. There had been a light shower. I like to go outdoors after a rain. Things feel fresh. Its the only time most of the smog gets washed out of the Houston air.
As I ambled around the corner of the garage, I found myself face to face with a large and decidedly nervous dappled mare. The horse and I froze and stood looking into each others' wild eyes for a second, then she reared up right in my face and I backed up in a panic. I tripped over an old case of motor oil and landed like a sack of potatoes on the ground. Two open oil cans from the last time I drained my crankcase splashed all over me.
< 30 >
The horse jumped and started. Far as I could tell the animal was about to do the Preakness on my chest. I lost all dignity and started rolling as fast as I could through the oil, across the muddy ground towards the back door of the house. Jubie came running up and darted around barking, not at the horse but at me. I cursed the damn dog, thinking he needed a lecture on loyalty, as I scrambled to my feet and bolted towards the porch.
Just then I heard a small voice say "It's okay Libby...it's okay... they're friends." Panting, I looked over to see a dirty little urchin, maybe five, standing beside the wood not ten feet away. The horse stiffened, then relaxed somewhat reluctantly. Still casting a suspicious eye my way, the mare trotted over and nuzzled the little girl. I felt a bit less threatened but my adrenaline count was off the richter scale. I still edged towards the house.
"Sorry about Libby mister, we been havin' some trouble. She don't like grumps too much." She started giggling. "I guess Libby is your horse?" I asked the obvious "What's your name?" "Dusty," she said "an Libby don't belong to me, she belongs to herself." "Well Miss Dusty, I would like it if you would tell your friend Libby that I don't take kindly to being tromped on in my own backyard." I was feeling a little cross and was looking for someone to chew on. I looked at the dirty little girl and thought better of it. "Why don't you come in the house. I bet you're hungry and no offense, but looks like you could use a bath." I put out my hand.
I looked down at the oily footprints that were forming on the sidewalk and got a good idea of what was so funny. I looked like I had been tarred and feathered. Dirty black crankcase oil covered my clothes and face. In my mad scramble I had picked up all sorts of leaves and other flotsam and jetsam that was now stuck on me in globs. I reached up and pulled a piece of dirty kite string off my cheek that was hanging like tinsel on a Christmas tree.
Just then I heard a small voice say "It's okay Libby...it's okay... they're friends." Panting, I looked over to see a dirty little urchin, maybe five, standing beside the wood not ten feet away. The horse stiffened, then relaxed somewhat reluctantly. Still casting a suspicious eye my way, the mare trotted over and nuzzled the little girl. I felt a bit less threatened but my adrenaline count was off the richter scale. I still edged towards the house.
"Sorry about Libby mister, we been havin' some trouble. She don't like grumps too much." She started giggling. "I guess Libby is your horse?" I asked the obvious "What's your name?" "Dusty," she said "an Libby don't belong to me, she belongs to herself." "Well Miss Dusty, I would like it if you would tell your friend Libby that I don't take kindly to being tromped on in my own backyard." I was feeling a little cross and was looking for someone to chew on. I looked at the dirty little girl and thought better of it. "Why don't you come in the house. I bet you're hungry and no offense, but looks like you could use a bath." I put out my hand.
I looked down at the oily footprints that were forming on the sidewalk and got a good idea of what was so funny. I looked like I had been tarred and feathered. Dirty black crankcase oil covered my clothes and face. In my mad scramble I had picked up all sorts of leaves and other flotsam and jetsam that was now stuck on me in globs. I reached up and pulled a piece of dirty kite string off my cheek that was hanging like tinsel on a Christmas tree.
< 31 >
I let out a chagrined chuckle, "I guess you're right about that Miss Dusty, I guess you're right." She grabbed my hand and we both walked up to the back porch and into the house while Rickie Lee's funky, slurry voice called out... "The most you'll ever know is back where you used to go If grownups could laugh this slow Where as you watch the hour snow Years may go by."
After Jesse chewed me out for tromping oil on the kitchen floor, she had Radio march me outside and hose me down. Then she got busy getting Dusty a bath, dinner and some clean clothes. By the time I got all the oil out of my hair and got back downstairs, Jesse and Dusty were sitting at the table engaged in a heavy discussion.
"Thomas," she repeated to make sure I was listening. Dusty says there is a group of children hiding not far from here who need food and medical attention. Her imaginary friend told her to come here. They can't or won't go to the authorities..." She gave me a long and penetrating look. "Honey, I've been talking to Joey and his friend for quite a while now. There's a lot going on that I need to talk to you about. We're going to have to leave town immediately."
I said I'm not very good at being the practical one in our household but it seemed like Jesse had overloaded a circuit. "Look Jess, I know crazy things are going on but we need to consider our options. We don't know what kind of phenomenon these `imaginary friends' are. I can't see us making any radical moves until we are a little clearer about what's going on."
After Jesse chewed me out for tromping oil on the kitchen floor, she had Radio march me outside and hose me down. Then she got busy getting Dusty a bath, dinner and some clean clothes. By the time I got all the oil out of my hair and got back downstairs, Jesse and Dusty were sitting at the table engaged in a heavy discussion.
"Thomas," she repeated to make sure I was listening. Dusty says there is a group of children hiding not far from here who need food and medical attention. Her imaginary friend told her to come here. They can't or won't go to the authorities..." She gave me a long and penetrating look. "Honey, I've been talking to Joey and his friend for quite a while now. There's a lot going on that I need to talk to you about. We're going to have to leave town immediately."
I said I'm not very good at being the practical one in our household but it seemed like Jesse had overloaded a circuit. "Look Jess, I know crazy things are going on but we need to consider our options. We don't know what kind of phenomenon these `imaginary friends' are. I can't see us making any radical moves until we are a little clearer about what's going on."
< 32 >
Joey pursed his lips in a sign of pique. "Dad, we gotta go. It's our job. We gotta help the kids." He looked ready to cry at my stubbornness. I was afraid of something like this. "Jess, if we get involved with these runaways and we don't report them, we could be the ones that end up behind bars. I know damn well why they're avoiding the police but we've got a family to think about."
Radio, Joey, Jesse and the little girl all looked at me like I was something undesirable found on the bottom of a shoe. I backpedaled. "Did I say that? I didn't say that. I meant to say what do they need, where do we go?" I had developed great survival skills in eighteen years of married life. I also knew when to sit down and shut up.
"I am very familiar with the risks involved Thomas." She hadn't quite scraped me off her foot. "However, these are children who have no way out. We've got to help. They have no friends in the system. Besides, Joey's friend says this is our job. He says we have to get them out of the city and to a safe place."
Did I say I knew when to shut up? "Out of the city! Do you know what you're talking about. That's probably kidnapping! Besides there must be thousands of them. Jesse are you out of your mind." Giving these little guys some food and attention was one thing, but I would be damned if I was going to see my whole family on the lam from the FBI. "Jess, there's got to be another way. We could stir up some grief at city hall, try to keep them out of their parents hands, call congressmen and contact the media. There are a lot of ways to do this. Be reasonable, Jess, we can't do them any good if we're watchin' this thing from inside maximum security."
Radio, Joey, Jesse and the little girl all looked at me like I was something undesirable found on the bottom of a shoe. I backpedaled. "Did I say that? I didn't say that. I meant to say what do they need, where do we go?" I had developed great survival skills in eighteen years of married life. I also knew when to sit down and shut up.
"I am very familiar with the risks involved Thomas." She hadn't quite scraped me off her foot. "However, these are children who have no way out. We've got to help. They have no friends in the system. Besides, Joey's friend says this is our job. He says we have to get them out of the city and to a safe place."
Did I say I knew when to shut up? "Out of the city! Do you know what you're talking about. That's probably kidnapping! Besides there must be thousands of them. Jesse are you out of your mind." Giving these little guys some food and attention was one thing, but I would be damned if I was going to see my whole family on the lam from the FBI. "Jess, there's got to be another way. We could stir up some grief at city hall, try to keep them out of their parents hands, call congressmen and contact the media. There are a lot of ways to do this. Be reasonable, Jess, we can't do them any good if we're watchin' this thing from inside maximum security."
< 33 >
"The `friends' will provide mister." The girl looked older now that she was clean and dressed in one of Joey's sweat suits. "Things ain't ever gonna be the same. It's over. The grumps ain't gonna run the world anymore." She looked at me. There was a disturbing defiance in her bold, black eyes. "Besides, you can hear the gere calling. You ain't no dumbo." Her eyebrows arched into triangles. "Stop fighting it...you know what you got to do."
I walked down the front hall of St. Maddy's parting the buzzing parents like the Red Sea. I love being tall. There are all sorts of little ways that you get what you want. You can paint the ceiling without using a ladder. You can reach things without getting up. You can see over people in a crowd. All of these things are advantages in the simple everyday of life. Although I'm normally too clever to admit it, I excuse myself all sorts of character flaws in the face of my ability to look over the heads of others. That may be one of the reasons I never tried to make it to the pros. Who wants to be 6'6" and feel short?
Another reason is that no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger, and in this case it was John Smith, Sr., Variety's husband, the original immovable object. John played tackle for University of Houston a few years back and takes good care of himself. He's not as tall as I am but he has the profile of an oil drum and arms like cedar trunks. I always pay attention when he talks.
He chuckled "My position is the same as yours Unc', step n' fetch it an run blocker. They'll be out in a minute. I'm sure they want to see you." Big John is a wildlife biologist. I leaned back against the lockers and asked him about his last trip to the desert, an expedition to find a fast disappearing predator called the black-footed ferret which, John had told me before he left, lives off prarie dog colonies. His eyes lit up but before he could get started, Variety stuck her head out the conference room door.
I walked down the front hall of St. Maddy's parting the buzzing parents like the Red Sea. I love being tall. There are all sorts of little ways that you get what you want. You can paint the ceiling without using a ladder. You can reach things without getting up. You can see over people in a crowd. All of these things are advantages in the simple everyday of life. Although I'm normally too clever to admit it, I excuse myself all sorts of character flaws in the face of my ability to look over the heads of others. That may be one of the reasons I never tried to make it to the pros. Who wants to be 6'6" and feel short?
Another reason is that no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger, and in this case it was John Smith, Sr., Variety's husband, the original immovable object. John played tackle for University of Houston a few years back and takes good care of himself. He's not as tall as I am but he has the profile of an oil drum and arms like cedar trunks. I always pay attention when he talks.
He chuckled "My position is the same as yours Unc', step n' fetch it an run blocker. They'll be out in a minute. I'm sure they want to see you." Big John is a wildlife biologist. I leaned back against the lockers and asked him about his last trip to the desert, an expedition to find a fast disappearing predator called the black-footed ferret which, John had told me before he left, lives off prarie dog colonies. His eyes lit up but before he could get started, Variety stuck her head out the conference room door.
< 34 >
"Thomas, good, please come in." She motioned down the hall. "John, send in Mr. Purcival as soon as he arrives. Oh, he's there by the door, and Ricky Esquivel, that young man in the gang colors. No one else." As I entered the room, Variety gave me a pinch and a warning sign with her eyes. All was not safe and in the open. I figured I'd better watch my P's and Q's. Up against the walls of the room were several of the senior staff.
Heading up the conference table was some overweight Catholic priest to whom Sister Alicia, the managing director of the school, was being decidedly deferential. Joining them was Sister Ruth, the pinch-faced chief administrator, Sister Mary Catherine, the academic head mistress and another of my buddies, Sister Willa.
I like Sister Willa. She had only come to the school two years before. She had been a university history professor and had decided to teach younger people because as she put it. "I chose to make history instead of teaching it." She headed the small middle school program and taught preschool gymnastics.
Before I could take a seat, the door opened again and in came the unlikely duo of the male model and the gang leader. The guy in the silk suit had alert, clever eyes and moved with an astounding gracefulness. His dark complexion and coal black hair crowned a hawklike face, arresting and elegant. I decided there might be more to him than good looks.
Heading up the conference table was some overweight Catholic priest to whom Sister Alicia, the managing director of the school, was being decidedly deferential. Joining them was Sister Ruth, the pinch-faced chief administrator, Sister Mary Catherine, the academic head mistress and another of my buddies, Sister Willa.
I like Sister Willa. She had only come to the school two years before. She had been a university history professor and had decided to teach younger people because as she put it. "I chose to make history instead of teaching it." She headed the small middle school program and taught preschool gymnastics.
Before I could take a seat, the door opened again and in came the unlikely duo of the male model and the gang leader. The guy in the silk suit had alert, clever eyes and moved with an astounding gracefulness. His dark complexion and coal black hair crowned a hawklike face, arresting and elegant. I decided there might be more to him than good looks.
< 35 >
“Father William," Variety began the introductions. "This is Mr. Thomas Bowie, one of our parent leaders." She pointed to fancypants. "I'd like you to meet Mr. James Purcival, a respected business leader and long time financial supporter of the school, and this young man..." she put her hand on young Pancho Villa's shoulder "...is Ricky Esquivel. He is the big brother of two of our state ward children and their primary provider. He is here at the request of the missing ward children."
The little bandit figited like a cat in a cage and had that same cold defiance in his eyes I had seen on the faces of so many other children in the last twenty-four hours. On him, however, it had clearly developed into an art form. The priest acknowleged each of us by repeating our names and nodding but made no eye contact. The old guy knew how to stay in control of a meeting.
"I have been in contact this morning with representatives of the church and it appears that similar, if not more difficult conditions, are occuring in parishes around the world..." He paused to let that sink in, then looked over at Ricky Esquivel. "Mr. Esquivel, it seems that young children from this school have left their parents and I suspect that you are aware of their location. Their parents are understandably distraught. We are all concerned for their safety. I suggest that it would be to all our best interests if they returned to the ones who love them."
Esquivel wore a red plaid shirt and a bluejeans jacket with no arms and some kind of gang logo on the back I couldn't read. His long, charcoal hair was oiled and combed back. It rose up from his forehead in a dome then slid `em." He turned and spit on the floor behind him. It was quite a tough guy act. I was impressed. He turned back with a cold smile. "They ain't ever goin' back. Might as well get used to that. You wanna talk. Okay I'm here, but you and the Pope needa listen, not talk. Things are changin' on the street man."
The little bandit figited like a cat in a cage and had that same cold defiance in his eyes I had seen on the faces of so many other children in the last twenty-four hours. On him, however, it had clearly developed into an art form. The priest acknowleged each of us by repeating our names and nodding but made no eye contact. The old guy knew how to stay in control of a meeting.
"I have been in contact this morning with representatives of the church and it appears that similar, if not more difficult conditions, are occuring in parishes around the world..." He paused to let that sink in, then looked over at Ricky Esquivel. "Mr. Esquivel, it seems that young children from this school have left their parents and I suspect that you are aware of their location. Their parents are understandably distraught. We are all concerned for their safety. I suggest that it would be to all our best interests if they returned to the ones who love them."
Esquivel wore a red plaid shirt and a bluejeans jacket with no arms and some kind of gang logo on the back I couldn't read. His long, charcoal hair was oiled and combed back. It rose up from his forehead in a dome then slid `em." He turned and spit on the floor behind him. It was quite a tough guy act. I was impressed. He turned back with a cold smile. "They ain't ever goin' back. Might as well get used to that. You wanna talk. Okay I'm here, but you and the Pope needa listen, not talk. Things are changin' on the street man."
< 36 >
Obviously the priest was a bit more experienced with society fundraisers than with street kids. He swallowed his distaste at the youngster's hostility. "I understand that there are accusations of abuse," he said "however, that is a matter for the authorities, not for you or I. In the meantime, the children obviously need food and shelter, medical attention and other support that you cannot give them." The priest was a bit oily for me. His puffy complexion, twitchy, mechanical eyes and devious manner smelled of manipulation and self interest. "My God boy," he continued. "several people have died, this is not a playground situation."
"You wouldn't last two days on my playground old man." The kid's upper lip curled in disdain. "The `authorities' had dere chance man. What they do, huh. I tell you what the `authorities' do. Nothin'! They lock the kids up, they talk bullshit, then they give up the kids to the grumps. The kids end up dead." He arched one eye and pointed his finger accusingly. "I told you to listen popeman, It's over," He leaned over the table and into the priest's face. "You `grumps' ain't gonna run things no more. You don't tell us what to do."
"Then call off the cops, let the kids downtown go and leave us alone. If you wanna help...help. Don't try to run things." His voice got less harsh. "Somma the kids got hurt. They need help but they'd rather die than go back to the grumps." He sounded worried. "You gotta do this my way. They'll know if I come back with the cops."
For the first time, he let down his macho veneer. He was almost begging. "You gotta understand. I ain't the boss. I don't even understand all this. But they got their ways of knowin' things. They ain't the same kids they was before. They're changin'...my little brothers..." His eyes clouded over for a second "...they know things, they see things..." His face shut down again. The chip dropped back onto his shoulder. "But some of them are hurt. You gonna help or what?"
"You wouldn't last two days on my playground old man." The kid's upper lip curled in disdain. "The `authorities' had dere chance man. What they do, huh. I tell you what the `authorities' do. Nothin'! They lock the kids up, they talk bullshit, then they give up the kids to the grumps. The kids end up dead." He arched one eye and pointed his finger accusingly. "I told you to listen popeman, It's over," He leaned over the table and into the priest's face. "You `grumps' ain't gonna run things no more. You don't tell us what to do."
"Then call off the cops, let the kids downtown go and leave us alone. If you wanna help...help. Don't try to run things." His voice got less harsh. "Somma the kids got hurt. They need help but they'd rather die than go back to the grumps." He sounded worried. "You gotta do this my way. They'll know if I come back with the cops."
For the first time, he let down his macho veneer. He was almost begging. "You gotta understand. I ain't the boss. I don't even understand all this. But they got their ways of knowin' things. They ain't the same kids they was before. They're changin'...my little brothers..." His eyes clouded over for a second "...they know things, they see things..." His face shut down again. The chip dropped back onto his shoulder. "But some of them are hurt. You gonna help or what?"
< 57 >
"Dad!" Radio sounded scared and weak "Help me!" I summoned all my strength and tried to pull him close enough to John's body so that he could grab on but my arms failed me. There was nothing left. I had let my child down. Just like Rivi. Just like my first baby. Now another of my children would die right in front of me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I prayed to God and then cursed him for a lying bastard. I screamed my frustration at the raging torrent.
Suddenly something hard grabbed me under the armpit. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Big John's eyes were open. The massive bicep on his remaining good arm was knotted and his face was hard and determined. "Tell the boy to climb over me Unc." I could have kissed him. His big legs reached out for Radio and Radio started climbing up him while I pulled at his clothes.
"Took you long enough you overweight son of a bitch. That was one hell of a time to take a nap." Our eyes met for a moment and I almost started crying. The man was in incredible pain. I couldn't imagine what it was costing him to put out this kind of effort. "Watch his arm Radio." Radio made it to John's shoulders and pulling on the rope and using me as a brace he was able to scramble up to the bike path. After five minutes of impossible effort, I made it up the side but neither Radio nor I had the strength to haul the big man out of the water. I told Radio to go for help.
I tied John securely to the signpost to keep him from being dragged off by the current, then collapsed onto the muddy path. As I sprawled on the soggy ground, exhausted and barely conscious, I looked up at the sign to which I had tied my wounded friend. It said "All Pets Must Be On Leash-Order of City of Houston Parks and Wildlife Department." The last thing I remember was looking down at John Sr. bobbing in the rushing water and thinking "Well, maybe this will teach him to heel."
Suddenly something hard grabbed me under the armpit. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Big John's eyes were open. The massive bicep on his remaining good arm was knotted and his face was hard and determined. "Tell the boy to climb over me Unc." I could have kissed him. His big legs reached out for Radio and Radio started climbing up him while I pulled at his clothes.
"Took you long enough you overweight son of a bitch. That was one hell of a time to take a nap." Our eyes met for a moment and I almost started crying. The man was in incredible pain. I couldn't imagine what it was costing him to put out this kind of effort. "Watch his arm Radio." Radio made it to John's shoulders and pulling on the rope and using me as a brace he was able to scramble up to the bike path. After five minutes of impossible effort, I made it up the side but neither Radio nor I had the strength to haul the big man out of the water. I told Radio to go for help.
I tied John securely to the signpost to keep him from being dragged off by the current, then collapsed onto the muddy path. As I sprawled on the soggy ground, exhausted and barely conscious, I looked up at the sign to which I had tied my wounded friend. It said "All Pets Must Be On Leash-Order of City of Houston Parks and Wildlife Department." The last thing I remember was looking down at John Sr. bobbing in the rushing water and thinking "Well, maybe this will teach him to heel."
< 37 >
The priest looked uncertain. He looked down for a moment, then nodded at Sister Ruth. She opened the rear door to the conference room and two policemen stepped out. He turned to young Esquivel and spoke. "I cannot allow this school or anyone associated with this institution or the Catholic church to undermine the duly appointed authorities. I am sorry young man but I must inform you that you may be certified an adult and face criminal charges if you do not tell us where the children are hiding right now!" The two cops started moving across the room.
Several things happened fast at that point. Teachers started complaining loudly about the priest's gestapo tactics. Variety stepped to the hall door and had a few words with John. Young Esquivel said "Up yours, preacher" and bolted around the table. I lost control of my big feet as the two cops walked by and accidentally tripped one, sending him sprawling on the floor. I jumped up apologizing and bumped the other up against the wall while exclaiming "Oh, excuse me officer, my fault officer. Here let me help you." and doing my best three stooges hand jive.
I reached down to help the first guy up and the cop I had been playing pattycake with pushed me hard on the back and sent me flying across the table. Little Ricky ducked out the door with my irritated gendarme in hot pursuit but just as the trooper reached the double door I saw Variety make a hand signal and the closed door slammed open with incredible force throwing the unprepared officer back across the room like a rag doll. John Sr. stuck his head in sheepishly. "Oh, I'm sorry, was someone behind the door?"
Variety cried out "John can't you be more careful" and ran to help the plastered officer, inadvertantly stumbling over the guy I had tripped who was just picking himself off the floor. She fell on top of him and accidently kneed him in the groin. Next she started screaming something implying he was "running his hands all over..." her body. I jumped off the table and held John Sr. back from crushing the offending officer's head like an eggshell.
Several things happened fast at that point. Teachers started complaining loudly about the priest's gestapo tactics. Variety stepped to the hall door and had a few words with John. Young Esquivel said "Up yours, preacher" and bolted around the table. I lost control of my big feet as the two cops walked by and accidentally tripped one, sending him sprawling on the floor. I jumped up apologizing and bumped the other up against the wall while exclaiming "Oh, excuse me officer, my fault officer. Here let me help you." and doing my best three stooges hand jive.
I reached down to help the first guy up and the cop I had been playing pattycake with pushed me hard on the back and sent me flying across the table. Little Ricky ducked out the door with my irritated gendarme in hot pursuit but just as the trooper reached the double door I saw Variety make a hand signal and the closed door slammed open with incredible force throwing the unprepared officer back across the room like a rag doll. John Sr. stuck his head in sheepishly. "Oh, I'm sorry, was someone behind the door?"
Variety cried out "John can't you be more careful" and ran to help the plastered officer, inadvertantly stumbling over the guy I had tripped who was just picking himself off the floor. She fell on top of him and accidently kneed him in the groin. Next she started screaming something implying he was "running his hands all over..." her body. I jumped off the table and held John Sr. back from crushing the offending officer's head like an eggshell.
< 38 >
By the time I got John Sr. calmed down, Ricky Esquivel was long gone. The poor policemen were somewhat worse for the wear. We apologized for our clumsiness so many times they almost believed us and stumbled off to report that this covey of lost kids was still lost. I felt sorry for them. They were just doing their job and it was obvious they had seen a bad couple of days.
"I am not clear about your motivations but it seems to me that the little vaudeville skit you just put on has put us all in a bad position. We can ill afford to estrange ourselves from the police force in these troubled times. It does not serve the school or the diocese to create suspicion in their minds. We do not want them questioning our loyalty." His face was almost purple.
I was tired, had a bruise on my shin from the fracas and had no desire to be lectured like a divinity student caught masterbating. I listened for a minute then butted in. "Father William, it seems to me that our first mission in this school is to serve and protect the children. Your actions today make it clear that you are ill equipped to handle that mission. You clearly negotiated in bad faith and have now put at risk the very children this meeting was created to serve. Now, thanks to your imperious little grandstand, we have some kids out there in need of help and we have no way to get to them."
There were murmurs of assent from around the room. The priest was clearly not used to open rebellion. His face was so red he looked like an overripe tomato. "You have no right to talk to me like that." He dissolved into an apoplectic cascade of spurts and coughs while Sisters Alicia and Ruth tried to calm him. I turned to leave with Variety and John as the room broke up into a jumble of individual conversations.
"I am not clear about your motivations but it seems to me that the little vaudeville skit you just put on has put us all in a bad position. We can ill afford to estrange ourselves from the police force in these troubled times. It does not serve the school or the diocese to create suspicion in their minds. We do not want them questioning our loyalty." His face was almost purple.
I was tired, had a bruise on my shin from the fracas and had no desire to be lectured like a divinity student caught masterbating. I listened for a minute then butted in. "Father William, it seems to me that our first mission in this school is to serve and protect the children. Your actions today make it clear that you are ill equipped to handle that mission. You clearly negotiated in bad faith and have now put at risk the very children this meeting was created to serve. Now, thanks to your imperious little grandstand, we have some kids out there in need of help and we have no way to get to them."
There were murmurs of assent from around the room. The priest was clearly not used to open rebellion. His face was so red he looked like an overripe tomato. "You have no right to talk to me like that." He dissolved into an apoplectic cascade of spurts and coughs while Sisters Alicia and Ruth tried to calm him. I turned to leave with Variety and John as the room broke up into a jumble of individual conversations.
< 39 >
"Stop" he screamed. "This matter is much more serious than you think. There is something behind all this... something demonic. These are not children! They are...something else." The rest of us were shocked into silence. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He went on. "Have any of you been around these children. I have. I spent most of Sunday with several of them. They are no longer children. There is something...inside them. We must fight it. It threatens us all."
Now I was pissed...and scared. It never occured to me this could turn into a witch hunt. "You've out of your mind." I said and stormed out. Sister Willa walked out with us, probably an exit more insulting to the priest than the rest of us combined. Variety took her hand as we walked. "I'm sorry Willa, I'm sure that didn't help our cause for leaving the school open but I just couldn't abide that dirty trick. If I have caused you any embarassment, I apologize."
Sister Willa looked at Variety with sparks in her eyes. "Do not apologize child. Your actions were the only honorable ones that occurred in the room. Before the meeting started, the good father informed us that the diocese has already decided to close the school until this crisis is over. They apparently feel the risks for the church are greater than the needs of the children.
" Willa's normally warm features burned with anger. She visibly controlled her emotions and smiled at Variety. "So, we are battling windmills once again it would seem. I am sorry my dear, I`m afraid there is nothing for us to do but go home and wait it out." While Variety and John collected a few things in her classroom, I walked out onto the playground to say goodbye. The school had been a special place in my life and given the events of the last two days, I doubted I would see it again any time soon.
Now I was pissed...and scared. It never occured to me this could turn into a witch hunt. "You've out of your mind." I said and stormed out. Sister Willa walked out with us, probably an exit more insulting to the priest than the rest of us combined. Variety took her hand as we walked. "I'm sorry Willa, I'm sure that didn't help our cause for leaving the school open but I just couldn't abide that dirty trick. If I have caused you any embarassment, I apologize."
Sister Willa looked at Variety with sparks in her eyes. "Do not apologize child. Your actions were the only honorable ones that occurred in the room. Before the meeting started, the good father informed us that the diocese has already decided to close the school until this crisis is over. They apparently feel the risks for the church are greater than the needs of the children.
" Willa's normally warm features burned with anger. She visibly controlled her emotions and smiled at Variety. "So, we are battling windmills once again it would seem. I am sorry my dear, I`m afraid there is nothing for us to do but go home and wait it out." While Variety and John collected a few things in her classroom, I walked out onto the playground to say goodbye. The school had been a special place in my life and given the events of the last two days, I doubted I would see it again any time soon.
< 40 >
The sky was grey and damp. An early norther' had blown in. It brought the kind of Houston weather that makes Texans flock to Colorado. I pulled my coat closer to shut out the chill wind, walked over to the swingset, wiped off the seat with my sleeve and sat down. For some reason I couldn't get that old Donovan song, "Season of the Witch" out of my head.
The last two days had gone by too fast for me. Saturday, little Dusty had taken us across the bayou to an abandoned city warehouse behind the zoo. It was only a walk of a couple of miles and she refused to go in our car, saying we might be seen. We tethered the horse at the house and all five of us crept through the damp woods, across a foot bridge over the bayou and around the back side of the zoo complex until we came to a battered equipment yard full of outdated tractors and other equipment the grounds crews must have used only in the summer.
Dusty talked as we trudged along. "There's bad grumps Mr. Bowie. There's very bad ones. Most grumps don't really care about kids but some are very bad. My uncle, he's the one what took care of me. He was bad. He useta hit me all the time, he useta hold me down and pinch me on the back and between the legs where the teachers at school couldn't see the bruises. He would get so mad." Anger and fear flickered across her face. "I used to hide in the shed where we boarded Libby for some people. Libby was my friend. When he hurt me I would go there and Libby would love me cause nobody else would." The hurt and outrage in her voice was almost tangible. "Coupla nights ago, I was hidin' in the shed cause I was talkin' to my new friend an he was gettin' really drunk. He came out in the shed with a belt yellin' for me."
She stopped and looked up at me. "I usta think it was my fault that he hurt me. I thought I was bad and that's why my momma left me with him. I thought I was supposed to be hurt but I don't think that no more. My friend says I'm good and he ought to love me." Her eyes were righteous and determined. "My friend says he was confused but I think he was just bad." Tears came to her eyes. She was almost shouting "Libby kicked him and I hope he's dead, really dead."
The last two days had gone by too fast for me. Saturday, little Dusty had taken us across the bayou to an abandoned city warehouse behind the zoo. It was only a walk of a couple of miles and she refused to go in our car, saying we might be seen. We tethered the horse at the house and all five of us crept through the damp woods, across a foot bridge over the bayou and around the back side of the zoo complex until we came to a battered equipment yard full of outdated tractors and other equipment the grounds crews must have used only in the summer.
Dusty talked as we trudged along. "There's bad grumps Mr. Bowie. There's very bad ones. Most grumps don't really care about kids but some are very bad. My uncle, he's the one what took care of me. He was bad. He useta hit me all the time, he useta hold me down and pinch me on the back and between the legs where the teachers at school couldn't see the bruises. He would get so mad." Anger and fear flickered across her face. "I used to hide in the shed where we boarded Libby for some people. Libby was my friend. When he hurt me I would go there and Libby would love me cause nobody else would." The hurt and outrage in her voice was almost tangible. "Coupla nights ago, I was hidin' in the shed cause I was talkin' to my new friend an he was gettin' really drunk. He came out in the shed with a belt yellin' for me."
She stopped and looked up at me. "I usta think it was my fault that he hurt me. I thought I was bad and that's why my momma left me with him. I thought I was supposed to be hurt but I don't think that no more. My friend says I'm good and he ought to love me." Her eyes were righteous and determined. "My friend says he was confused but I think he was just bad." Tears came to her eyes. She was almost shouting "Libby kicked him and I hope he's dead, really dead."
< 41 >
The entire trip I kept feeling like we were being watched. I mentioned it to Dusty and she was evasive. Once I thought I saw a brown shape standing in some brush thirty or forty feet away, but when I stopped and tried to get a clearer view, it melted into the background. She stopped for a moment, choking back tears, her little fists balled at her side. We all waited, respecting her pain. After a few seconds she looked up, determination in her eyes.
She stood there taut as a string, glaring up at Jesse and me. "My friend says I can trust you but I don't trust no grumps. I got animals now. I can hurt you. I don't want to but I will. I can kill you." Her voice was hard. She paused to let it sink in. "Where I'm takin' you is some hurt kids. You better do right. You better take care of them. I mean it."
I thought about the brown shadows in the woods and a shiver ran down my back. I had a feeling this kid wasn't making an empty threat. Jesse squatted down and offered the little girl a hug. "Dusty, I'm sorry grownups hurt you and your friends. Tom and I would never do that. We only want to help." The little girl stepped back from her comforting arms. It was going to be a while before she could trust again.
As we approached the equipment yard, several large dogs stepped out of hiding and bristled up, growling low in their throats. My first instinct was to pick up a stick to protect us but Dusty assured me the mutts would leave us alone as long as we didn't "act like grumps". I told her I wasn't sure I knew how to act any other way. Her grin was grim. I couldn't see anything funny in the situation either.
She stood there taut as a string, glaring up at Jesse and me. "My friend says I can trust you but I don't trust no grumps. I got animals now. I can hurt you. I don't want to but I will. I can kill you." Her voice was hard. She paused to let it sink in. "Where I'm takin' you is some hurt kids. You better do right. You better take care of them. I mean it."
I thought about the brown shadows in the woods and a shiver ran down my back. I had a feeling this kid wasn't making an empty threat. Jesse squatted down and offered the little girl a hug. "Dusty, I'm sorry grownups hurt you and your friends. Tom and I would never do that. We only want to help." The little girl stepped back from her comforting arms. It was going to be a while before she could trust again.
As we approached the equipment yard, several large dogs stepped out of hiding and bristled up, growling low in their throats. My first instinct was to pick up a stick to protect us but Dusty assured me the mutts would leave us alone as long as we didn't "act like grumps". I told her I wasn't sure I knew how to act any other way. Her grin was grim. I couldn't see anything funny in the situation either.
< 42 >
She led us through a hole in the fence and over to a door in the big shed near the middle of the yard. The bottom panel had been kicked out. She quickly scrambled through the opening then stuck her head out and motioned us inside. With some difficulty, I squeezed through the door panel. Jesse, Joey and Radio followed. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the room, I saw children and animals of all types, ages and sizes spread around the room. Small, dark shapes lurked on top of the old tractor, the dusty benches and a rusty mower. They huddled in little groups against the cold getting what warmth they could from each other, filthy blankets, and old newspapers they must have salvaged from the garbage.
Cats and dogs lay with them, some obviously hurt. A small black girl sat in one corner holding a large labrador mutt who was covered in blood. The animal was too weak to even lift its head as we entered. Several other children stood around a makeshift bed on top of the oil caked slab of plywood. Two small shapes lay in the squalor of rags and newsprint piled up to provide some barrier between their small bodies and the cold ground.
Dusty waved us over to the two bedraggled shapes on the plywood bed. "This is the worst ones. This little girl can't wake up." She pulled back the soiled blanket. Jesse caught her breath, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh Tom" ligament standing out. Her stomach fell back into a ribcage that was mostly a series of black and purple bruises. As Jesse ran her hands over her little body, searching for breaks, she found several other ugly contusions and scrapes. One cut just behind the hairline was covered with matted hair and dried blood.
We stood there frozen, paralyzed by their clear, purposeful eyes... eyes that were much too old... eyes that had seen too much. I felt distinctly uncomfortable, somehow false in the face of those eyes. They offered no accusation but I stood accused.
Cats and dogs lay with them, some obviously hurt. A small black girl sat in one corner holding a large labrador mutt who was covered in blood. The animal was too weak to even lift its head as we entered. Several other children stood around a makeshift bed on top of the oil caked slab of plywood. Two small shapes lay in the squalor of rags and newsprint piled up to provide some barrier between their small bodies and the cold ground.
Dusty waved us over to the two bedraggled shapes on the plywood bed. "This is the worst ones. This little girl can't wake up." She pulled back the soiled blanket. Jesse caught her breath, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh Tom" ligament standing out. Her stomach fell back into a ribcage that was mostly a series of black and purple bruises. As Jesse ran her hands over her little body, searching for breaks, she found several other ugly contusions and scrapes. One cut just behind the hairline was covered with matted hair and dried blood.
We stood there frozen, paralyzed by their clear, purposeful eyes... eyes that were much too old... eyes that had seen too much. I felt distinctly uncomfortable, somehow false in the face of those eyes. They offered no accusation but I stood accused.
< 43 >
The child lay in a foetal position, her legs tucked to her chest. Jesse carefully turned her on her back and pulled her naked limbs down on the matted newpaper beneath her. I was checking out the little boy who was laying next to her when Jesse suddenly let out a horrified gasp and burst into furious tears. "Oh no...how could anyone...Oh you poor baby."
Jesse fell into my arms shuddering uncontrollably. I was having a hard time keeping down my supper. I staggered on my knees in shock and we rocked back and forth in pain and horror. Radio and Joey stood back from us, slow understanding coming to their faces. The rest of the children sat looking at us, no sign of emotion, no sign of sorrow or compassion.
"Grumps did this mister, grumps did it to us all." Dusty stood with her fists up like a miniature prize fighter. Her voice grated. "The friends say we must forgive. They say grumps don't know no better. Is that right mister. You don't know any better?" In all my life, I had never hit a child. Why was I feeling like I had? "Who's fault is it, Mr. Bowie?"
I was too horrified to answer, too ashamed of my race, too full of rage and pain and anger. All I wanted to do was find the person who had tortured that child and hurt them, make them pay. I shook all over. Pushing away from Jesse, I jumped to my feet and let out a choked scream and slammed my fists against the side of the shed.
Jesse fell into my arms shuddering uncontrollably. I was having a hard time keeping down my supper. I staggered on my knees in shock and we rocked back and forth in pain and horror. Radio and Joey stood back from us, slow understanding coming to their faces. The rest of the children sat looking at us, no sign of emotion, no sign of sorrow or compassion.
"Grumps did this mister, grumps did it to us all." Dusty stood with her fists up like a miniature prize fighter. Her voice grated. "The friends say we must forgive. They say grumps don't know no better. Is that right mister. You don't know any better?" In all my life, I had never hit a child. Why was I feeling like I had? "Who's fault is it, Mr. Bowie?"
I was too horrified to answer, too ashamed of my race, too full of rage and pain and anger. All I wanted to do was find the person who had tortured that child and hurt them, make them pay. I shook all over. Pushing away from Jesse, I jumped to my feet and let out a choked scream and slammed my fists against the side of the shed.
< 44 >
"I'm not mad at you. I would never get mad at you." I said. She pulled back as I reached to touch her cheek and brought her hand up involuntarily to protect herself. "I won't hurt you little one. I promise...I won't ever hurt you." Searching her eyes I couldn't think of any reason she should believe me. I went back to where Jesse was trying to clean up the little girl with the pitiably inadequate first aid kit we had brought.
"Jess, we need to get these kids back to the house and get them warm and clean. We need some help, some of these kids need real medical attention, way more than we can give them..." She interrupted me. One of the children reached over and touched my leg. She looked frightened. "Don't be mad at us." she said "We're sorry, don't be mad." I looked down at her grimey little face and got a hold on myself.
Her eyes burned with a fire from another world. "I can see it, friend," she said in a soft, high voice "...I can see...It's beautiful." There was awe in her voice. "It will be happily ever after...happily ever after. I see... I see." She started to convulse, her eyes wide open. She shook once, then again. Slowly she began to relax, a strained but beautiful smile transformed her dingy face, then she let out a slow, hissing breath and was quiet.
Jesse and I were stunned. I kept hearing her words over and over in my head as I looked down and watched the light fade slowly from her eyes. "It will be happily ever after...happily ever after." As I settled down beside her, the battered child's eyes fluttered open. Jesse and I sat back in surprise.
"Jess, we need to get these kids back to the house and get them warm and clean. We need some help, some of these kids need real medical attention, way more than we can give them..." She interrupted me. One of the children reached over and touched my leg. She looked frightened. "Don't be mad at us." she said "We're sorry, don't be mad." I looked down at her grimey little face and got a hold on myself.
Her eyes burned with a fire from another world. "I can see it, friend," she said in a soft, high voice "...I can see...It's beautiful." There was awe in her voice. "It will be happily ever after...happily ever after. I see... I see." She started to convulse, her eyes wide open. She shook once, then again. Slowly she began to relax, a strained but beautiful smile transformed her dingy face, then she let out a slow, hissing breath and was quiet.
Jesse and I were stunned. I kept hearing her words over and over in my head as I looked down and watched the light fade slowly from her eyes. "It will be happily ever after...happily ever after." As I settled down beside her, the battered child's eyes fluttered open. Jesse and I sat back in surprise.
< 45 >
Variety shook my shoulder and brought me out of my dark reverie. I looked around at St. Maddy's playground one last time. "Come on Uncle Tom, this white man's school ain't got no more use for black folk an hippys." She said gently. "Let's go home." I pulled myself slowly out of the swing and looked up into the noonday sky. The sun burned helplessly behind the thick grey clouds. "Light is everywhere," I thought "but nobody can see a damn thing."
I wrapped my right arm around John Sr.'s substantial shoulders. "John, I need to talk to you about proper etiquette when entering rooms unannounced. I do believe you might have offended that servant of the law back there." "Yes" he chuckled "Exits and entrances have always been difficult for me." Variety shook her head "I just can't take this ol' garbage man anywhere. I swear I think he was raised in a barn." That Donovan song slid back into my head...
I was ready for it to stop raining. The cold and damp had creeped between the layers of my clothing. The black gumbo mud pulled at my shoes with each step, making the difiicult chore of walking on the slanted side of the bayou in the dark even more difficult. "I can't believe I'm doin this." I thought.
There were fourteen of us spread out over about three hundred yards. Three adults, four kids, five dogs and two cats. Below us a torrent in the concrete lined bayou rushed towards the Gulf of Mexico. John Smith, lugging a massive backpack full of tools trudged ahead of me along a small bike trail that was cut in the side of the massive trough about two thirds of the way up the embankment.
I wrapped my right arm around John Sr.'s substantial shoulders. "John, I need to talk to you about proper etiquette when entering rooms unannounced. I do believe you might have offended that servant of the law back there." "Yes" he chuckled "Exits and entrances have always been difficult for me." Variety shook her head "I just can't take this ol' garbage man anywhere. I swear I think he was raised in a barn." That Donovan song slid back into my head...
I was ready for it to stop raining. The cold and damp had creeped between the layers of my clothing. The black gumbo mud pulled at my shoes with each step, making the difiicult chore of walking on the slanted side of the bayou in the dark even more difficult. "I can't believe I'm doin this." I thought.
There were fourteen of us spread out over about three hundred yards. Three adults, four kids, five dogs and two cats. Below us a torrent in the concrete lined bayou rushed towards the Gulf of Mexico. John Smith, lugging a massive backpack full of tools trudged ahead of me along a small bike trail that was cut in the side of the massive trough about two thirds of the way up the embankment.
< 46 >
The channel below us carried the runoff from the storm. It surged past less that five feet beneath us. I didn't want to think about what would happen if one of us fell into that maelstrom. I reached back and pulled a small knee out of my ribcage. "Joey," I said softly but with some degree of frustration, "Please keep your knee out of my side." "Sorry Dad." He said for the sixthed time. He was lifting himself up in the harness on my back and peering ahead.
About one hundred yards in front of us I could barely make out the rangy figure of Sam Glennon through the rain. Radio and John Jr. tramped through the mush just ahead of him. Jubie and two of the other dogs spread out along the upper edge of the slope on lookout. Far ahead, out of sight, I knew Ricky Esquivel, Dusty and a gaunt doberman they called Smitty, were on point. Joe the Frisby Cat and Benjamin, our yellow tabby, slunk through the shadows still furher forward, probably looking like a couple of oversized drowned rats.
Anyone with an imaginary friend discovered a whole new relationship with animals soon after the awakening. Even I found I had a powerful awareness and sensitivity to their communication that had not been there before. But Joey, Dusty and a few other children seemed to have developed some sort of union with certain animals that was almost a total transfer of sensory information.
Dusty had become the leader of the loose cadre of children and animals that had taken refuge in our house. She had developed the talent to extraordinary proportions and seemed to be able to contact and befriend almost any animal within a mile or two radius. With their help, she could even create a composite in her mind and effectively monitor an entire area. It was due to the emergence of these new abilities that the children had been able to avoid the authorities so effectively. Over the first two days after the Awakening, the method of using animal teams as scouts was developed and refined with the help of the "friends."
About one hundred yards in front of us I could barely make out the rangy figure of Sam Glennon through the rain. Radio and John Jr. tramped through the mush just ahead of him. Jubie and two of the other dogs spread out along the upper edge of the slope on lookout. Far ahead, out of sight, I knew Ricky Esquivel, Dusty and a gaunt doberman they called Smitty, were on point. Joe the Frisby Cat and Benjamin, our yellow tabby, slunk through the shadows still furher forward, probably looking like a couple of oversized drowned rats.
Anyone with an imaginary friend discovered a whole new relationship with animals soon after the awakening. Even I found I had a powerful awareness and sensitivity to their communication that had not been there before. But Joey, Dusty and a few other children seemed to have developed some sort of union with certain animals that was almost a total transfer of sensory information.
Dusty had become the leader of the loose cadre of children and animals that had taken refuge in our house. She had developed the talent to extraordinary proportions and seemed to be able to contact and befriend almost any animal within a mile or two radius. With their help, she could even create a composite in her mind and effectively monitor an entire area. It was due to the emergence of these new abilities that the children had been able to avoid the authorities so effectively. Over the first two days after the Awakening, the method of using animal teams as scouts was developed and refined with the help of the "friends."
< 47 >
It was this bond of equals that had created our latest mission. We were off to liberate the animals in one of the city shelters. In the last few days, authorities had begun a mass extermination of captured animals. The kids all felt it in the "gere" and it was driving them crazy. They had already been on one raid behind our backs and had freed about fifty dogs and cats at a small private shelter.
The last few days had been difficult for the adults in the three households. When the kids had threatened that the "grumps" wouldn't run things anymore, they meant it. As parents we were not used to our control being thwarted. We were conditioned to be obeyed, to having a veto and to "knowing best". If we tried to take that tack now or we showed any overt anger towards one of the children, every animal in the room would come to alert with its hackles up and teeth bared...even our own pets. We quickly got the idea that we were in no position to make demands
It frightened and upset us, not only because we had lost control, but also because we felt responsible for the children's safety and as they didn't consult us about their plans, we were unable to protect and advise them. The kids were changing rapidly. They spent hours in nonstop conversation with, Sam and I had been allowed to come along on the raid of the city shelter because Variety had convinced Dusty that we would be useful for tasks that took brute strength like carrying wounded animals. In other words, we were the pack animals on the trip.
Sam Glennon was a captain in the Marine reserve and had spent two years in the jungles of Viet Nam. He had a difficult time adjusting to taking orders from an eight year old about tactics in what he maintained was a military operation. Still, his complaints fell on deaf ears. We could go or stay, but if we went, Dusty made it clear who was calling the shots. She was courteous. She listened to our ideas and concerns...then did what she wanted. It was driving us crazy.
The last few days had been difficult for the adults in the three households. When the kids had threatened that the "grumps" wouldn't run things anymore, they meant it. As parents we were not used to our control being thwarted. We were conditioned to be obeyed, to having a veto and to "knowing best". If we tried to take that tack now or we showed any overt anger towards one of the children, every animal in the room would come to alert with its hackles up and teeth bared...even our own pets. We quickly got the idea that we were in no position to make demands
It frightened and upset us, not only because we had lost control, but also because we felt responsible for the children's safety and as they didn't consult us about their plans, we were unable to protect and advise them. The kids were changing rapidly. They spent hours in nonstop conversation with, Sam and I had been allowed to come along on the raid of the city shelter because Variety had convinced Dusty that we would be useful for tasks that took brute strength like carrying wounded animals. In other words, we were the pack animals on the trip.
Sam Glennon was a captain in the Marine reserve and had spent two years in the jungles of Viet Nam. He had a difficult time adjusting to taking orders from an eight year old about tactics in what he maintained was a military operation. Still, his complaints fell on deaf ears. We could go or stay, but if we went, Dusty made it clear who was calling the shots. She was courteous. She listened to our ideas and concerns...then did what she wanted. It was driving us crazy.
< 48 >
Radio, and John Jr. were having a rough time in the new pecking order too. They had ended up in the middle, stuck taking orders from the adults but powerless over their younger siblings. The first day, they had gone about the tasks before them with sullen resignation. It was clear they resented the fact that the imaginary friends had declined to visit most teenagers. They felt left out.
Ricky Esquivel had joined us soon after the meeting Monday morning at St. Maddy's. Just as John, Variety and I were getting into our cars to leave, a grey Mercedes coupe with dark tinted windows had pulled up. As the window slid down, Los Lobos music poured out. Ricky stuck his head out the window and said "Hey Variety, check out the wheels." Sitting next to him in the driver's seat was James Purcival, the Marlboro man, silk suit and all.
I looked over at Variety in surprise. She looked back sheepishly. "Well Tom, I didn't have time to tell you who was friend and foe. Mr. Purcival is one of the good guys..." She turned back to Ricky. "Okay, you little gangster, take us to those kids." Thus Ricky, his two younger brothers and the runaway wardie kids joined Dusty and the refugees from the zoo. Our house was beginning to smell like a kennel.
Two days later, Dusty had become the spokesmen for all the children and Ricky was the titular head of the preteen crowd. It wasn't much of a gang but it was the best he could do. John Jr. and Radio needed someone close to their own age who had the moxie to deal with the situation and one thing the creator had dolled out with generosity to Ricky Esquivel was moxie.
Ricky Esquivel had joined us soon after the meeting Monday morning at St. Maddy's. Just as John, Variety and I were getting into our cars to leave, a grey Mercedes coupe with dark tinted windows had pulled up. As the window slid down, Los Lobos music poured out. Ricky stuck his head out the window and said "Hey Variety, check out the wheels." Sitting next to him in the driver's seat was James Purcival, the Marlboro man, silk suit and all.
I looked over at Variety in surprise. She looked back sheepishly. "Well Tom, I didn't have time to tell you who was friend and foe. Mr. Purcival is one of the good guys..." She turned back to Ricky. "Okay, you little gangster, take us to those kids." Thus Ricky, his two younger brothers and the runaway wardie kids joined Dusty and the refugees from the zoo. Our house was beginning to smell like a kennel.
Two days later, Dusty had become the spokesmen for all the children and Ricky was the titular head of the preteen crowd. It wasn't much of a gang but it was the best he could do. John Jr. and Radio needed someone close to their own age who had the moxie to deal with the situation and one thing the creator had dolled out with generosity to Ricky Esquivel was moxie.
< 49 >
After the first day of sulking through the step n' fetch it tasks we had given them while Sarah and Variety patched the children up, the older boys went on strike. Ricky took their complaints directly to Dusty. After some consultation with her imaginary friend, she had assigned a child to each of the boys to do "gifting".
"Gifting" was what the kids called it when they put their hands on each other's heads and closed their eyes. None of the adults knew what was going on. It was one of several odd new behaviors. We were so concerned with dealing with the physical and medical necessities that we had little time to ask questions. Even when we did, we often couldn't understand the answers.
Jesse and James Purcival were working with Dusty and a little oriental boy named Nam Chin. Nam was in charge of the planned exodus to New Mexico. He was a scrawny, wiry rat of a kid with a goofy smile. He bobbed his head all the time and laughed at things no one else thought were funny. Then, when you were just about for some location near the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in southern New Mexico. As it turned out, Mr. Purcival's mother was Apache. He had spent most of his childhood summers with his grandfather's people around Lincoln National Forest.
Nam and Joey had "seen" the location. As soon as James had brought the first load of Wardie kids to the house, the two boys ran up to him and started describing the "place with the cave and the waterfall". Purcival was obviously stunned. He wasn't very explicit about why. He just said it sounded like a place he knew. The whole thing was a mystery. It took a while for the self-assured Mr. Purcival to regain his bearings.
"Gifting" was what the kids called it when they put their hands on each other's heads and closed their eyes. None of the adults knew what was going on. It was one of several odd new behaviors. We were so concerned with dealing with the physical and medical necessities that we had little time to ask questions. Even when we did, we often couldn't understand the answers.
Jesse and James Purcival were working with Dusty and a little oriental boy named Nam Chin. Nam was in charge of the planned exodus to New Mexico. He was a scrawny, wiry rat of a kid with a goofy smile. He bobbed his head all the time and laughed at things no one else thought were funny. Then, when you were just about for some location near the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in southern New Mexico. As it turned out, Mr. Purcival's mother was Apache. He had spent most of his childhood summers with his grandfather's people around Lincoln National Forest.
Nam and Joey had "seen" the location. As soon as James had brought the first load of Wardie kids to the house, the two boys ran up to him and started describing the "place with the cave and the waterfall". Purcival was obviously stunned. He wasn't very explicit about why. He just said it sounded like a place he knew. The whole thing was a mystery. It took a while for the self-assured Mr. Purcival to regain his bearings.
< 50 >
The way Joey explained it, "It doesn't have to be the way you "see" it Dad, but if you don't change something, it will be." At first, we adults doubted the accuracy of these premonitions. Nam and Joey faded in and out of a prescient daze sometimes for hours at a time. The talent didn't seem to discriminate between large and small events. They were just as likely to foresee what was for dinner as they were to "see" a more significant event.
Since it was possible to affect the events "seen" by altering circumstances, some would happen and others wouldn't. It was hopelessly confusing as they never knew what alteration of behavior in the present would affect the foretold event, or even if changing actions that lead to the event they had "seen" would create greater dangers. Also, there was no guarantee that horrible things wouldn't happen totally unforseen. The whole thing made my head swim.
Nam had "seen" the success of our mission but he was less than forthcoming about the circumstances. Dusty followed his suggestions for changes in personnel, one part of which was allowing the adults to go. I wasn't sure why, but I was more worried about what he hadn't told us than what he had. Now here we were, teens and adults, cannon fodder in a war to liberate incarcerated pets. I figured odds were good we'd end up shot or in jail. I hadn't played war since I was ten and even then, I wasn't too good at it.
Joey stuck his heel in my rib again. "Dad, Frisby Joe and Benjamin are at the shelter. There are two policemen at the front door but nobody around back that they can see. Dusty and Ricky are going around back. We'd better hurry."
Since it was possible to affect the events "seen" by altering circumstances, some would happen and others wouldn't. It was hopelessly confusing as they never knew what alteration of behavior in the present would affect the foretold event, or even if changing actions that lead to the event they had "seen" would create greater dangers. Also, there was no guarantee that horrible things wouldn't happen totally unforseen. The whole thing made my head swim.
Nam had "seen" the success of our mission but he was less than forthcoming about the circumstances. Dusty followed his suggestions for changes in personnel, one part of which was allowing the adults to go. I wasn't sure why, but I was more worried about what he hadn't told us than what he had. Now here we were, teens and adults, cannon fodder in a war to liberate incarcerated pets. I figured odds were good we'd end up shot or in jail. I hadn't played war since I was ten and even then, I wasn't too good at it.
Joey stuck his heel in my rib again. "Dad, Frisby Joe and Benjamin are at the shelter. There are two policemen at the front door but nobody around back that they can see. Dusty and Ricky are going around back. We'd better hurry."
< 51 >
I could see Sam Glennon motion to Radio and John Jr. up ahead. All three dropped onto all fours and began to climb up the side of the massive ditch to the field that surrounded the shelter. By the time John Sr. and I trotted the hundred yards and clambered up the slick and muddy hill, Sam and the two boys were half way across the field crawling on their bellies. I couldn't see the other dogs but Jubie was crouched behind a ragged bush waiting for Joey.
It had been prearranged that Joey would stay on the edge of the bayou with Jubie as lookout. That suited me fine. I pulled him out of the pack and set him down. What's happenin' Joey" I asked. "The cats are inside scouting. So far just a couple of men in white clothes and..." he stopped. His face tightened, the color draining out his cheeks and tears came to his eyes.
He wiped his eyes. An angry resolve came over his face. "Lots of 'em are dead Dad. There's piles of 'em. The animals are real scared." He looked up at me. "Go on Dad, they're gonna need your help." He grabbed my arm. "Dad...be real careful. I can't tell who but somebody's gonna get hurt." For just a moment he was my little boy again. I reached over and gave him a hug. "Don't worry Bub, I'm way too chicken to take any chances."
We crawled as fast as we could to the breach in the rear fence, Radio and John Jr. were waiting for us. Sam had gone into the building with the two dogs to find Dusty and Ricky. This close to breaking and entering, my stomach started doing a waltz in my throat. My ol' Daddy did a good job of raising me a law abiding citizen. I swallowed, pulled the opening apart and started to crawl through.
It had been prearranged that Joey would stay on the edge of the bayou with Jubie as lookout. That suited me fine. I pulled him out of the pack and set him down. What's happenin' Joey" I asked. "The cats are inside scouting. So far just a couple of men in white clothes and..." he stopped. His face tightened, the color draining out his cheeks and tears came to his eyes.
He wiped his eyes. An angry resolve came over his face. "Lots of 'em are dead Dad. There's piles of 'em. The animals are real scared." He looked up at me. "Go on Dad, they're gonna need your help." He grabbed my arm. "Dad...be real careful. I can't tell who but somebody's gonna get hurt." For just a moment he was my little boy again. I reached over and gave him a hug. "Don't worry Bub, I'm way too chicken to take any chances."
We crawled as fast as we could to the breach in the rear fence, Radio and John Jr. were waiting for us. Sam had gone into the building with the two dogs to find Dusty and Ricky. This close to breaking and entering, my stomach started doing a waltz in my throat. My ol' Daddy did a good job of raising me a law abiding citizen. I swallowed, pulled the opening apart and started to crawl through.
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