12.21.08
Poetry – Whispering Stream
Through poetry and short stories four authors, Brintha J. Gardner, Debbie A. Stevens, M. Jean Pike, and E. G. Parsons reflect on life ~ both the good and the bad. This book is dedicated to those providing shelter to the homeless and all royalties earned will be donated to family shelters.
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-557-02741-5
Hardcover ISBN: 978-0-557-02561-9
Buy the paperback, hardcover, or digital copy here or buy the paperback on Amazon
Thank you for your support of the wonderful people who provide shelter to those without homes.
08.09.08
Katie Blue Eyes 3
Supper was over and I’d settled several residents in the lounge to smoke and converse together, while others were in their rooms watching TV or reading. The scent of their cigarettes drifted to the desk where I was finishing some paperwork and caused my craving for a smoke to increase. I tried to put it out of my mind. I’d been cutting back in an effort to quit, but knew I was failing miserably. With Pat answering lights for me and by working through first break, I’d managed to finish most of the showers. Now I kept an eye on the hallway and as soon as I saw her returning from supper break, I jumped up and hurried her way.
She laughed as we passed each other. “Hungry, are you?”
“Oh, yeah. Starving.” She laughed again, knowing full well how badly I was wanting a smoke.
I squeezed my way into the tiny staff lounge and found a vacant seat. Lighting my cigarette, I took a deep draw, sighing in satisfaction and wishing for the hundredth time that I had even a shred of will power. Several people were just finishing and rose to leave the room, making jokes about aching feet and breaking backs. With their exit, the room seemed to expand and become more comfortable.
“Hey, Gail, are you in here?” Peggy’s sleek dark head appeared around the corner of the door.
“I’m here, come on in and talk to me.” Peggy was one of my dearest friends and I knew she’d waited to take supper until she was sure I’d be here. I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and rose to take our sandwiches and drinks from the fridge. Sliding hers across the table, I sat facing her.
“Did you hear about Joe?”
I shook my head, not wanting to talk around a mouth full of sandwich. Joe was one of the few male aides in the facility. He’d moved here from another state and had taken his classes and licensing exam the same time I had. Joe was in his forties, thin and shorter than most of the female aides. He always managed to get his work done on time and most of the residents liked him.
“He was fired.”
I took a swig from my bottle of tea. “Fired? Whatever for?”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice, although there was no need. We were the only two left in the lounge at that point. “Abuse. One of the nurses walked in on him. He was up on the bed straddling Mr. Davis and punching him in the face.”
“What! Is Jeb all right?” I knew my face had gone red, could feel the heat rushing into it. Anger swept over me. I couldn’t believe anyone could be so vicious, as to assault a helpless old man. Jebediah Davis suffered from senility and was bedfast. Although a few of the residents could be violent and abusive to staff, he wasn’t one of them. He had a sweet demeanor and was always cooperative.
“He’s fine physically, only one small bruise on his chin. But imagine what the poor old guy was thinking, being attacked that way.”
“Incredible. I would never have thought Joe capable of such a thing.”
“They say he just flipped out.”
“Was he arrested?”
“Yes, and charged with assault, but he’ll probably get off on some kind of mental breakdown excuse and be ordered to take counseling.”
“That’s one rotten egg out of here, but I fear there may be others.”
Her brows rose into peaks, but she remained silent, waiting for me to say more. I told her about Katie.
“Are you sure it wasn’t Joe she’s afraid of?”
“No, not a hundred percent sure, but from the different things she’s said, I think it’s a woman.”
“See, this is what comes from always having a shortage of staff and aides having to do shifts alone. When there are two, the job isn’t just easier, but there’s less chance of abuse because someone’s there to see. And some people just aren’t cut out for this type of work. You have to be both physically and mentally strong. Remember a while back when Gary was punching you in the hallway that day and the reporter guy saw it? He asked if you received combat pay and when you laughed and said no, he said you should. You never lost your cool with Gary.”
“That had more to do with compassion than mental strength. If I was eighty or ninety and my family stuck me in a nursing facility so they could sell my home and everything else I owned, I’d want to punch someone too.”
“Oh, poo. He was a bully way before that ever happened. He was terribly abusive to his wife before she passed away. He’s as right in his mind as you or I and he’s physically strong. He’s just a bully, pure and simple. Always was and always will be. But you’re right about the compassion. Without that…Well, you know.”
“Yeah, I know and I also know that I need to get off my duff and back to work. I still have Katie to shower and a couple of others before bedtime. I still can’t believe Joe did that. There’s no excuse for it. I just wish we’d have more in-depth in-service meetings on recognizing and handling burnout and other emotional stress on the job.”
“So do I, but we’d most likely still have incidences like this one. All the training in the world won’t help if the person doesn’t seek help when they need it.”
“ You’re right.” I rose and went to the door. “Talk to you later. I’m alone tonight, so can’t take a full supper break.”
“When things are caught up over on my wing, I’ll come and help you. Save Katie’s shower for last and we’ll give it together. Maybe with both of us there, she’ll feel safe enough to tell us what’s going on.”
“Okay, see you later.”
***
To Be continued……©Elizabeth Melton Parsons http://egparsons.com
06.27.08
Katie Blue Eyes 2
After getting Katie down for a nap, I went back to the nurse’s station. Janice was just finishing her paperwork. “Why was Katie still up?”
Janice raised her head, a blank look on her face, as she tried to switch her thoughts from what she’d been writing to my question. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She wanted her ‘Bubble Girl’. Why does she call you that anyway?”
“Because I chew bubble gum and I blew a bubble one day and she saw it.”
Her face wrinkled in distaste. “That’s a disgusting habit. You shouldn’t be chewing gum on shift.”
“Ill mannered perhaps, but not disgusting and there are no rules against it. Who was on day shift?”
“Barb and Kevin here on the west wing, why?”
“Just curious.” I’d had my suspicions about Barb for a while now and the fact that Katie didn’t want the woman near her only strengthened them, but why hadn’t she let Kevin put her to bed?
“Here comes Pat. I’m out of here. Have fun.” Janice hurriedly draped her sweater over her shoulders, grabbed her purse and was halfway to the time clock before Pat had even reached the desk.
“Where’s she going in such a hurry? Got a hot date or something?” Pat turned and watched, as Janice rushed down the hall.
I laughed and shook my head. “Just happy her shift is over. Katie’s been difficult today.”
“Katie’s always difficult unless you’re here. But I don’t blame her for that. You treat her like a queen.”
“I don’t treat her like a queen. I treat her like a human being and that’s no different than I treat anyone else.”
“Not true. You broke the fundamental rule of elder care. You bonded—got too close and not only to Katie, but others like Ben.”
“Ben’s a doll. I can’t help it if I like him.”
“He’s a crotchety old man and has half the aides scared witless. Do you know some won’t even go in his room?”
“It’s all bluff. He’s the sweetest man ever. They need to tease back with him and when they see that silly little grin sweep across his face, they’ll know they’ve won him over.”
Pat laughed and went behind the desk, pulling the day reports out and looking them over. “I know that and you know that, but they don’t and I have to admit, I get a kick out of seeing how intimidated they are.”
“Meanie.”
She grinned and handed me a paper. “Here’s a list of the showers that weren’t done on day.”
My heart sank, as I saw the long list. “Goodness, did day shift do any showers?”
“Only two and don’t ask me why. I wasn’t here. And something else, you’re on your own tonight. Sally called in.”
“What a surprise. I’d better get moving if I’m going to give twenty showers before supper.”
“I’ll help, as soon as I finish meds. We can save some to do right before bed time.”
“Thanks, Pat.” Sighing heavily, I hurried down the hall in answer to the blinking light over Mr. and Mrs. Paulson’s door. The couple was self-reliant, so I hoped whatever they wanted could be quickly dealt with. It was going to be a long night and I needed to find time to question Katie about Barb in such a way that she wouldn’t know I was fishing for information.
Read Part 1: http://elizabethmeltonparsons.wordpress.com/2008/06/10/katie-blue-eyes/
©Elizabeth Melton Parsons
06.18.08
A Father’s Gift of Love
A Father’s Gift
Straightening, I stretched my back and wiped the sweat from my brow. The seemingly endless rows of corn offered shade, but blocked any breeze that might offer relief from the sweltering mid summer heat. I longed for the shaded coolness of the creek bank—could almost feel the cold rush of water flowing over my feet, as I delved into the fantasy world of the book I’d began reading the night before. The image lasted no more than a moment before reality reasserted itself.
Grumbling, I once again bent to the task of removing the morning glory vines from the fully mature stalks. As I contemplated the insanity of the chore, anger moved over me the way a dark cloud covers the sun. It swelled in intensity with every vine I pulled. By the time I’d reached the end of the row, a raging storm had brewed within me and it’s fury begged for release.
Dad stood at the end of the field, leaning on the handle of his hoe. He watched me, as I pulled the vines from the last corn stalk. To my anger-shrouded mind, he seemed an evil overlord and I imagined he’d invented the chore simply to torment me.
“I could hear you mumbling all the way down that row.”
It was embarrassing to know he’d been listening to my grumbles and I had the most absurd feeling that he’d somehow invaded my privacy. This of course only added to my anger. “It’s too hot and I don’t know why we’re doing this. It’s crazy and useless.”
“If we don’t pull the vines, they’ll choke the corn.” He spoke reasonably, as though any idiot would know this.
“The stalks are fully grown. Those vines aren’t hurting it at all.”
“The ears aren’t fully set.”
“I don’t care. I love morning glories and I’d rather see their beautiful flowers blooming than this ugly corn.”
“Morning glory flowers won’t feed the pigs come winter.”
With every word of this argument, I could feel my peaceful afternoon of reading on the creek bank slipping farther and farther away. My anger wanted to shout out at him, but I pushed it back. I was only fifteen, but far from stupid. If I went so far as to scream at him the way I longed to do, he’d only think of some other way to torture me tomorrow. Glaring at him with an emotion very closely resembling hatred, I turned my back and started down another row. Maybe if I worked fast enough, I could still salvage part of the afternoon.
Unfortunately, the work continued till the sun began to set before we trudged wearily to the house when hearing Mom’s call to supper. Every day for the next five, my younger brother and I followed Dad to the field, pulling vines from dawn to dusk. My brother worked quietly while my complaints about pulling the colorful flowers grew louder and more frequent with each passing day. Dad never said anything. I suppose he figured as long as I was getting the job done, I could grumble away.
On the last day, I walked lightly to the field, a spring in my step. There was a cool breeze, compliments of the night’s passing storm. It blew over the stalks causing them to sway and ripple in one mass of beautiful green. It was like watching waves rolling over the sea.
“It’s lovely.” I said aloud.
I thought of the coming autumn and the chore of picking all that corn, throwing it into the wagon and then riding the wagon back to the corncrib in the barn. It brought a smile to my face. It was a chore I loved and never tired of. There would be no complaints coming from my mouth during those workdays. Dad stared at me for a moment before heading for the far side of the field where there were only a few rows left to weed. There would be plenty of time today for reading and my mood brightened even more as I followed behind him.
Two days later I stood on the front porch and watched, as Dad dug holes along the garden fence that bordered our drive. He’d been gone all morning and just returned. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing. It was too late in the season for planting. Mom came out and stood beside me.
“What’s your dad doing out there?”
“Looks like he’s going to plant something.”
“Well, go tell him lunch is ready before he gets too far along and forgets to come in.”
I sauntered across the soft grass, enjoying the feel of it on my bare feet and stopping short of the gravel driveway. “Mom says to tell you lunch is ready.”
“Okay, I’ll just be a minute.”
Being a teen, I was loath to show interest in what he was doing, but my curiosity got the better of me. “What are you doing?”
“Planting morning glories along the fence for you.”
My mouth fell open. “Why?” I could barely get the one word out around the fist-sized lump that had formed in my throat.
He continued to work, not looking at me, as he answered. “You said you love them. I can’t have them choking the corn, but you can enjoy them growing here along the fence.”
Moisture gathered along my lashes and I rapidly wiped it away, hoping he hadn’t seen. My voice was thick with emotion, as I asked, “Will they live, being planted this late?”
“They’ll live, I’ll see to it.”
Dad wasn’t the type of man to show outward signs of affection, and I’d often doubted his love for me. But with every vine he put lovingly into the ground along that fence, I could feel my heart rejoicing and hear the words, I love you, loud and clear in my mind. I never really understood this man who was my father and at times the distance between us seemed much too wide to bridge, but I understood this gesture. Every morning for years afterward whenever I’d step onto the porch and see those lovely purple blossoms, the gulf between us shortened. Today when I see morning glories, my heart swells with the memory of this gift of love given by my father.
Copyright ©Elizabeth Melton Parsons
05.09.08
Celia ~ A Short Story
Celia
It was a long haul between Leavenworth and Casey. Tom knew if he didn’t fill up in Organ Springs he’d never get the cargo to Casey without running out of fuel. He’d been a trucker for over twenty years, but had never driven this particular route and wasn’t any too happy about doing it now. The narrow road wound itself like a snake through the mountain passes and the passing rain left just enough fog and mist behind to make seeing the dark road difficult. Tom couldn’t see the steep cliff to his right, but knew it was there and it made him nervous.
Turning the radio on, he settled for a station playing an old favorite about lost love. Listening to the old familiar tune, he could feel his anxiety slip away. He’d be in Organ Springs in less than twenty minutes and was looking forward to some hot coffee and a brief rest. Looking through the slapping wipers, he could just make out the Organ Springs road sign up a head at the crossroad. He geared the big truck down, preparing to stop.
Just as he was getting ready to turn right onto the road leading into town, he caught a glimpse of something white in the middle of the road to the left. He looked again, but didn’t see anything. Oh, boy, I’ve been on the road too long tonight. Now I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
Continuing on his way, he quickly put the incident from his mind. All he could think about was getting that much needed coffee to clear his head for the next leg of the trip. Hopefully, the mist would clear and he’d have smooth sailing the rest of the way. Tom had always been proud of getting his cargo where it was supposed to be and getting it there on time, but he never took unnecessary chances. In his twenty plus years on the road, he’d never had an accident. A fact for which his company was grateful. Cora, Tom’s wife, felt they should have shown their gratitude in a more tangible way such as a raise in salary.
Tom smiled, as he thought of his wife of twenty years. An outspoken woman, Cora loved him with a fierceness he’d never thought possible before meeting her. And he loved her the same if not more. Cora had finally succeeded in convincing him to retire from the company in five years with a nice pension. Then they’d finally be able to move to the little house on the cost of Maine they’d bought years ago. Cora could paint all day and Tom could fish, something he never seemed to have time for now.
When his twenty-year retirement date came up, Cora had tried to convince him to take it. He thought they should wait another ten years, so there would be more money. Cora argued they’d spent too many years apart as it was. So they had compromised on the twenty-five year retirement.
Lost in thought, Tom never the less was paying attention to his surroundings and when the white thing appeared in the middle of the road, he was able to stop in time. Looking closer, Tom saw a lady in a long white dress. Jumping down from the cab, he hurried to her.
“Geesh, Miss. I could have run right over you. What are you doing out here in the middle of the road? Did you have an accident or something?”
“No, sir. I’d appreciate a ride into town. I was out walking and got caught in the rain.”
“I’ll be happy to oblige, I’m Tom Withers.”
“Thank you, Tom. I was afraid no one would come along and I’d have to walk all the way back, I’m Celia.”
Tom helped her into the cab and then climbed in himself. He looked over and realized she was shivering from wet and cold. Turning the heat on high, he reached behind the seat and pulled out a warm blanket to drape over her.
“Why, you poor little thing, you’re wet and freezing. Were you at a party? That’s a mighty pretty dress to be out walking in.”
“It’s my wedding dress. Do you like it?”
Tom was taken aback by this comment. Looking at the woman more closely, he could see the pale oval of her face and the dark circles around her large eyes. She was a pretty little thing, but had a sadness about her that wrung his heart and he wondered if she’d gotten cold feet and run off from the wedding.
“It’s a beautiful dress, Hon. Are you getting warm now?”
“Yes, it’s nice and toasty under this blanket.”
“I’d better get you back to town then.” Tom put the big truck in gear and headed towards Organ Springs.
On their way to town, Tom tried to make polite conversation, hoping to get more of her story out of her, but she didn’t seem inclined to talk. She began to hum the tune to the same old love song he’d been listening to earlier and he softly sang the words. She turned her huge eyes his way and smiled sadly, then continued to hum as he sang.
Right at the edge of Organ Springs sat a huge, old Queen Ann style house that had seen much better days. It was here, Celia asked Tom to let her out. Tom stopped the truck and eyed the old place dubiously. It was dark and there wasn’t a sign of light inside the old place. The weeds growing in the yard were knee high and he couldn’t imagine anyone living there.
“Are you sure you want out here, Hon? I could take you on into town.”
“Oh, no. I live here. This is my home. Isn’t it just beautiful? Charles said we’d have lots of children to fill it up.”
Tom was worried about dropping the lady at this dilapidated old house. “So then, there’s someone waiting inside for you?”
“Of course, Charles is there waiting. He’s been waiting for such a long time. He’ll be so happy to see me.”
Tom glanced back at the old house, as he helped Celia from the cab of the truck. A small light came on in one of the front windows, easing his mind.
“There, you see? Charles has put the light in the window for me. He does that every night.” Her face seemed to glow with happiness, as she said the words.
“Well, Celia, I’ll bid you goodnight then and I hope your wish of filling the house with children comes true.”
The glow left her face and she smiled sadly up at him before making her way through the weeds to the front door. Tom climbed back into his truck and drove to the truck stop on the other side of town. He was surprised that he was the only trucker around the place. He didn’t see how they could stay in business with so few customers. While the attendant filled his truck, he went inside to order coffee and a bite to eat.
He sat at the counter and an elderly man in a white apron came to take his order, shouting it to the cook in back as he filled Tom’s cup with hot coffee. Tom sighed, as he sipped the fragrant brew. “This is what I’ve been needing. Thank you.”
“Come from Clancy, did ya?” The man asked him.
“No, over the pass, I’m heading to Casey.”
The man’s eyes grew round in surprise. “Well, I’m mighty glad you made it safely. Guess you don’t know, but most truckers won’t come over the pass, they circle around through Clancy and take southbound 180 to Casey.”
“Yeah, I saw that route on the map, but that’s a good forty miles out of the way.”
“Most feel the forty miles are worth it. Ya didn’t see the ghost, then?”
Tom grinned. “What ghost might that be?” He’d heard these stories before in many small towns all over the country.
“The ghost of Celia Matheson.”
Tom choked on his coffee, coughing and sputtering. Once he’d got his breath back, he looked into the face of the old man and saw the knowing look in his eyes.
“Ya did see her then?”
Tom nodded, thinking the old man was pulling his leg, but wanting to hear more anyway. “Tell me about her.”
“Celia and Charles Matheson were childhood sweethearts. I went to school with both of them and they were in love from first grade on. Charles was going to law school when he and Celia decided to get married. A few months before the wedding they bought the old Queen Ann on the other side of town, course it was a beautiful place then. Celia loved that house.”
“What happened with him and Celia? They did get married, I guess.”
“Yes, sir, they did. Got married at the little church over on Walnut Street. They left for their honeymoon, but a big truck ran the stop sign over at the crossroad and rammed right into them. There wasn’t much left of the car and Celia didn’t make it.”
“That’s terrible. What about Charles?”
“He lived, still alive in fact. He’s lived in that big old house all alone for the past fifty years.”
“The house is in pretty bad shape. Hard to believe anyone lives there.”
“Yep. Charles is one of the good guys. He’s helped a lot of folks out with free legal advice over the years and has defended more than a few of his neighbors in court, never asking for a dime. So when his health began to fail, folks would get together and mow the lawn, do a few repairs. Charles thought it was charity and got so upset, everyone figured it was best to leave him be. He never did remarry and puts a light in the front window of that house every night, saying it’s for Celia to find her way to him when the time is right.”
Shivers crept along Tom’s spine. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was getting pretty spooky. “Right time for what?”
“For the two of them to be together again. They say Celia haunts the old crossroads. Before word got around, there was many a trucker came to town and swore they’d run over some lady in a white dress and then she’d just disappeared. Some said they stopped in time to miss her and actually spoke to her and offered her a lift, but she always said the same thing. ‘It’s not the right time’. So what’s your story, Mr.? Did ya run over her or offer her a lift?”
“I not only offered her a lift, but brought her to the old Queen Ann house and dropped her off. Now why don’t you tell me the real story behind all this nonsense. Is this some kind of way to draw in the tourists?”
“Ya say ya dropped her at the old house?”
“Yes, I did.”
The old man behind the counter rushed to the phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Sarah, let me talk to the sheriff.” He waited a moment and then spoke into the phone again. “Yeah, Pete, it’s me Hank. You better get a car over to the Matheson house. I think Charles might be ailing. Yeah, okay, let me know what happens, will ya? Thanks.” He hung up the phone and walked back to counter.
Tom finished his meal. He’d had enough of this silliness for one night and needed to get back on the road.
“Thanks for the meal, Hank, and for the entertainment.”
He left the truck stop and headed his big rig out of town towards Casey. He couldn’t get Hank’s story out of his mind and he kept seeing Celia’s lovely, pale face full of sadness. “Darn it,” he whispered. He just had to see for himself what was going on at the old house.
Turning the truck around, he headed back to Organ Springs and drove to the old Queen Ann. There was an ambulance and a police car parked in front. As he watched, they wheeled a gurney out of the house, a body covered with a white sheet on top of it. Tom felt sadness deep in his heart and wondered if it were possible he’d actually had an encounter with the ghost of Celia Matheson. He climbed down from his truck and wandered over to a small group gathered in front of the house.
“What’s happening?” He asked one woman.
“Poor old Mr. Matheson passed away tonight. It’s a shame. He was a nice old man.”
Tom returned to his truck and began to turn it around to head back out of town, many questions running through his mind. As he began to pull away from the old house, a flash of something white caught his eye in the side mirror. Turning quickly, he saw Celia Matheson and a handsome young man in a dark suit walking hand in hand down the road.
As he stared open mouthed, Celia turned and looked at him. She smiled brightly before turning and continuing down the road, snuggled close against the side of the young man. As Tom watched, the two of them disappeared into the mist. Only the mist had cleared. Tom shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Either he was going crazy or he’d actually just seen Celia and Charles Matheson’s ghosts.
Tom was quiet and thoughtful for the rest of the trip. After dropping his cargo, he found a phone and called Cora.
“Hello, Sweetheart, I’ll be home tomorrow. And, Cora, I’ve decided to take the twenty-year retirement. This is my last trip. Ah… Honey, don’t cry. Yes, I know. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I love you too. Bye, Darlin’.”
Tom walked back to his truck with a smile on his face. Ghost or not, Celia Matheson had shown him that spending time with his Cora was more important than a few extra dollars in retirement benefits.
Copyright Elizabeth Melton Parsons
All Rights Reserved
04.27.08
Lizzie And The Boy’s Club
Chapter 1
The Guava Tree
It was hot. I could feel the heat of the Florida sun burning my bare arms and legs as I left the little board shanty, my mother’s words still ringing in my ears. Try to stay out of trouble, Lizzie, and act like a lady, please. We both knew one of these admonishments would be a stretch, both…impossible.
Reaching up, I lifted the heavy wad of sweat soaked, red hair away from my nape and for the millionth time wished that Ma would let Dad cut it. It wasn’t fair that my brothers could plop down in a chair and have their hair ruthlessly shaved to the scalp while I, as a girl must suffer the discomfort of having a thick mane hanging down my back like a winter cloak.
I hurried my steps not wanting to be late for what was going to be a very exciting day, a triumph for all girls, a huge step in my young brain for female equality. Today I would be tested to see if I was worthy to become a Rebel—the only girl ever to be considered.
The old shed came into sight and the group of boys gathered round it was quiet as they stood scuffing their bare toes at the hot sandy ground. I approached cautiously, not knowing if they had changed their minds about allowing me to join.
“Hi, guys.” They all turned and stared at me as though I had suddenly grown two heads or something.
“Hey, Lizard, what’s up?”
Jimmy Hatfield was short, skinny and the most annoying person ever. He liked to call me lizard, my first name being Elizabeth. I returned the favor by calling him beanpole even at risk of my life. He really hated being called beanpole. Jimmy was twelve and always looked as though someone had tied him to the back of a car and drove a mile down a wet road towing him behind. No one would venture a guess as to what color his hair was, it being caked with grime just like his clothes. He had a round face in opposition to his skinny frame and it was streaked and smudged with black.
“I’m ready for the initiation, Beanpole.”
Jimmy made a lunge for me and was grabbed around the middle by Willie Johnson. Willie was as big and strong as most men and Jimmy looked like a rag doll swinging off Willie’s arm, flailing his legs and arms around wildly while trying to break free.
“Hold up there, Jimmy. She’s just a girl and you shouldn’t call her lizard.”
As much as I appreciated Willie’s timely intervention in my early demise, I didn’t appreciate at all being referred to as just a girl. It made me feel insignificant.
“Let him go, Willie. I can take care of myself.”
Willie let go and Jimmy dropped into the dirt with a hard thud. Scrambling to his feet he made a show of dusting off his dirt caked clothing and straightening himself to a dignified stance, glaring murderously at me the entire time.
“That’s right,” he said. “You’re just a girl, a tiny little pip squeak that has no bees wax being here with us.”
“I may be a little, but I can do anything the rest of you can do and even better,” putting my hands on my hips, I bent forward and glared right back.
“Well, we’ll see about that.” Jimmy smirked his evil grin into my face.
“I’m ready to do what you want. Let’s just get on with it.”
Walking over and taking my arm, Willie led me a ways away from the other four boys and leaned close so only I could hear what he had to say.
“Look, Lizzie, I know I promised I’d get you into the club, but you don’t have to do it. You can go on home and forget this whole thing.”
“No way! You just bring on them tests and I’ll pass them.”
“You’re a girl. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I kind of like you, kiddo.”
“Willie, I’m doing those tests.” I turned and went back to the group. “I’m ready whenever you guys are.”
Willie joined the group and stared at the circle of boys until one by one they all looked at the ground refusing to look at him or me.
“Let’s just get on with it.” Jimmy said.
Willie sighed heavily knowing he was defeated. Willie was fourteen, the oldest of all the boys and we had been friends for two years. His pale blonde hair reminded me of corn silk and his blue eyes always held a twinkle of good humor.
Jimmy came to stand in front of me. “Your first test is to climb up and get us some of those guavas hanging in that tree.”
Walking over to the old tree and kicking off my flip-flops, I hiked my shorts a little higher and began to climb. When I was standing on the bottom most limb, there was a green guava hanging right in front of my face.
“Grab that one, Lizzie, and come on back down here.” Willie was obviously afraid that I was about to fall and break my neck.
“No, I want to get a ripe one.” Reaching up with my arms, I grabbed onto a higher limb and swung off the one I was standing on, hanging by my hands. Swinging my legs out and over the old shed, I let go and dropped onto the rusted tin roof. It clanged and rippled. I thought for a moment I was going to go crashing right through.
“What the heck are you doing? Hurry up and get down here!” Willed yelled up at me.
Inching slowly over the old roof, I made my way to the middle where I could see a lovely ripe guava hanging just out of my arm’s reach. I decided I could jump up and grab the fruit. I jumped, grabbing the guava with one had and hanging on to it as I came back down on the tin. It rattled and clanged loudly as one end came up off the board it had once been nailed to. Fortunately for me, it held and I didn’t go crashing through to the ground inside the shed. Holding my prize guava, I made my way back down the tree.
I looked around at the stunned faces. Willie’s had gone as white as a sheet and the others were bug eyed with their mouths hanging open.
“Don’t you ever do anything that stupid again!” Willie ordered.
I was going to tell him not to give me orders when I saw Jimmy coming over. I knew he’d want the guava to eat. After wiping it off on my shorts, I raised it to my mouth and took a huge bite out of it.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Jimmy came running up.
I couldn’t believe how really good that guava tasted. I don’t know if it was the excitement of almost dying to get it or if it was the look on Jimmy’s face as he licked his lips and watched me as I enjoyed it.
Just as I was about to take another bite, I remembered something Ma had told me about selfish people. I looked at Jimmy and realized he was hungry, not hungry like the rest of us when we were waiting between breakfast and dinner or between dinner and supper. No, he was hungry, a hunger that comes from never having enough to eat. Suddenly I felt shame. Shame because I wanted that guava. I wanted it even knowing I had enough to eat, while others like Jimmy were going hungry. I handed the rest of the guava to Jimmy and turned my eyes away as he devoured it, wishing I had taken the time to get the other ripe one for him.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“You have to walk across the short end of the swamp where old Sally has her nest.” Willy answered, looking none too happy.
Old Sally was a gator that had built her nest in the same place for as long as I could remember. She was mean, ornery and hated people. Crossing the short end would only take about ten big steps, but being closest to her nest, you could bet she’d come after you. I wasn’t afraid of old Sally, but I didn’t have a death wish either.
“You don’t have to do it. You can quit now.” Willy’s eyes had lost their twinkle.
“Will I be in the club if I don’t?”
“No, but you can still hang out with us.” Jimmy walked up wiping the guava juice from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Let’s go, I’ll do it.” I turned and headed for the swampy area at the end of the dirt road, Ma’s voice ringing loud in my mind. Stay out of trouble, Lizzie.
Chapter One: Excerpted from “Lizzie And The Boy’s Club”
Available in e-book, paperback, and hardback.
Elizabeth Melton Parsons
12.25.07
JT’s Christmas Wish
JT had a Christmas wish. It was the same wish he’d had for the past five Christmases. He always asked Santa in his yearly Christmas letter and he prayed to God every night. He was beginning to lose hope that his one wish would ever be granted. JT wanted a home for Christmas. He could picture it all so clearly.
The fire burning brightly in the fireplace where overstuffed stockings were hung with care. Christmas carols playing and the tree in the corner–a huge green tree, decorated with garland, ornaments, and icicles. The lights twinkling in never-ending gaiety and under the tree, gaily wrapped gifts were stacked high. JT could picture this all so well that his little hands would tremble in excitement. His new Mom would be in the kitchen cooking and the good smells drifted about the house making his mouth water. She’d glance his way and smile, then wink–making JT feel all warm and happy inside. His new Dad would come in from outside, snow and cold clinging to his clothes, his arms full of logs for the fire and he’d ruffle JT’s hair as he passed.
JT knew it was only a fantasy. Imagining it had kept him going and happy in expectation, but he knew it was probably never going to happen now. He was getting too old. Everyone wanted to adopt the youngest of the children and at eleven, JT was ignored. He was getting too old for fantasy too. He’d stop having his Christmas dream and there would be no Christmas letter to Santa this year. He no longer believed in the magic of Christmas and Santa. When he prayed this year he left out the part about his Christmas wish and only prayed, as he always did, for Jesus to have a nice birthday. It would be Christmas in two weeks and he would not think about it. He had lots of work to do, helping the younger children look their best for visiting day. Visiting day was the day prospective parents came to the home to meet the children and perhaps find that one special child to become their very own.
Across town and down a country lane, a couple had just finished decorating their small brick cottage for Christmas. Everything was perfect and they rushed about getting ready to go to the children’s home. They’d been working hard since visiting day last year to get everything ready for their new son. They’d fallen in love with JT and set about immediately working on the adoption. They’d wanted to tell JT, but the home’s director said no. Her reason being that adoptions did not always go through and the children were devastated when learning they’d not be going to their new home after all. She said it was better to wait until all was approved before telling the children. But all was ready now. JT was theirs and they were going today to bring him home.
JT stood in the little lounge and straightened Billy’s shirt. He looked up, as the couple entered the room, then went still. They were talking with James, a five year old. JT’s heart skipped. It was them. He’d met them last year and had just known they were the ones. They were just as he’s always dreamed his new parents would be and they’d sat and visited with him most of the day. He’d been so excited, but nothing had happened. Now they were back and they were interested in James. JT felt his heart breaking and didn’t think he could stand to watch as they chose someone else for their son. he turned to leave the room, but was stopped by his name being called. He reluctantly walked to where they stood with the director.
The director was talking and the couple were smiling. JT must be hearing wrong. He shook his head and listened more closely. They wanted him. It was all settled. He was to get his things. He was going to his new home with his new parents. The couple looked at him and smiled, asking if he was willing to come and be their son. They wanted him so much. JT cried and thanked God and Santa and Jesus and everyone he could think of, for at last granting his Christmas wish.
JT got his Christmas wish. I pray all your dreams come true this Christmas!
copyright E. G. Parsons
