Liam's journal and short story.
Summer is more than halfway over already. I was supposed to keep a journal during the summer for English class, but since I've nearly finished all the summer reading list, I'll get a pass for my less than perfect entries. I go back to school in three weeks. Seventh grade. I thought when I turned twelve, I would feel older, but I don't. Not really, but I try and tell Dad that I am more mature, but he just smiles and nods. No after school program for me this year though. I'm officially too old. Dad is going to let me come home after school, but I'm not allowed to go anywhere. But it's still better than being in aftercare. He said that we would try and move back to Bucktown or Lincoln Park and I guess he and Hailey look at apartments during the day when they are on duty, but haven't found anything yet. I heard them talking about how expensive everything was and how buying a place would be nice but property taxes have tripled and it just isn't possible. Dad said that Lincoln Park had a great high school and where he wants me to go. I can't believe that will only be two years from now.
Hailey has been okay. She is trying hard, maybe too hard. It's like I make her squirm or something. Like she wants to get everything right. I think something happened at work again, but something good, because they seemed to be closer. Hailey tries to pay extra attention to me. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I just wish she'd leave me alone. Dad seems unsure of exactly what his role is some days, who to pay attention to more. It's hard for them to pick me up on time from day camp on time and Uncle Will gets me on many days. But that's okay, I like hanging out with him. He even took a week off and we just hung out and ran around town. It was my favorite week of the summer.
Another heatwave is going to start and that means crime will go up. It always does. Dad came home so tired the other night he was still wearing his vest. I tried it on and couldn't believe how heavy it felt. But I guess if has to stop a bullet then it has to be heavy. Sometimes life feels just as heavy.
Less than two weeks before school starts. Today was Saturday and Hailey took me to get school supplies. It's a tax holiday in Illinois for school stuff so we waited until now. Dad always hated back to school shopping. We could never agree where to go and I either chose too quickly—"are you sure that's the one you want?" or I didn't pick fast enough—"It's just a notebook, pick one." Most kids that were perusing the aisles were with their mother's, and I guess I was too.
"How many notebooks do you need?" Hailey asked as I clutched my list.
I told her seven as I looked at the covers adorned with solid colors, stripes, polka dots, cartoons and natural wonders. I wondered if the other kids would have just plain colors because we weren't little kids anymore or if they would have ones with swirly designs and landscape photo's, reminders of past vacations? Would girls have the ones with kittens and puppies and the guys have race cars? This wasn't as easy as it looked and I found myself appreciating Hailey's patience as I picked up and put down one notebook and folder after another.
We left the store, bags in hand holding my final decisions, that I knew I would question until school started. The heat was awful. It came in waves and shimmered in front of us. The humidity was so thick it felt like a wet wool blanket had been draped over us. While the concrete was so hot it felt like we were standing on a cookie sheet fresh from the oven. A sudden memory of my mother pulling freshly baked cookies from the oven popped into my brain. Hailey didn't bake. She tried to cook, and sometimes it even came out pretty good. But she didn't seem to have that inherent trait that I thought all mother's had of being able to cook and have every single thing taste delicious. But I guess she was trying. She did attempt a cake for my birthday, but it was dry and she said she it wasn't worth eating. She left and came back with six cupcakes piled high with frosting. Dad made me scrape off most of it though.
We found her vehicle and dumped our load and went off in search of clothes—the one shopping trip I hated even more than school supplies. But she let me look without offering any suggestions and though she vetoed the one pair of jeans with holes already torn into them saying the school dress code wouldn't allow them, she let me have the pair of skinny jeans that I wanted along with olive green ones that I saw a ninth grader wearing on the bus last spring. Then a pair of regular blue ones, and suggested a few shirts, but didn't flinch when I disagreed with most of them. I knew she was trying to walk a fine line when it came to me. She knew she was walking a fine line. Part of me felt sorry for her and the rest of me didn't really care. She had come into our lives and I still had trouble believing that she had actually married my father. His track record had always been so bad I never thought it would happen. Didn't think it could happen. I heard Dad tell her I was at a tough age, a few years younger and I would have embraced her coming into our lives. I'm not so sure. There was barely enough of him to go around when it was just the two of us. I still remember when he was with Erin, and there were times when I hated her. Not really her but what she represented—giving him things I couldn't.
I liked the fact that since she loved him, she would try that much harder to keep him safe on the job. But at the same time, if he loved her then he might risk more of himself than he would have otherwise to keep her safe. If he died would I live with her?
I wondered how many people today thought we were related—a real mother and son. It could be easy to see, we both have blond hair and blue eyes. But if you looked harder, things didn't really match up after that, not like they did with my mom and dad. Every night as I try to go to sleep I think of my mother and wonder if she thinks of me. If her last thought of the day is of me, as mine is of her.
One of our first English assignments was to write a short story. I got an A on mine and kept it in the depths of my backpack. But apparently Dad unearthed it and we had to have a talk. First, I'll tape a copy of my story in my journal so it can be read.
Once upon a time there was a boy. The boy lived with his father who spent much of his day chopping wood and delivering it to people around the forest. He was gone for long periods of time and would come home tired and grumpy. The boy tried to be good when his dad came home but often it was hard, because he had missed him so much that he couldn't keep everything inside of him and it would come spilling out and irritate the man.
One day after a difficult morning, the man left to do his job of helping other people and the boy decided he didn't want to stay in cabin so he took a walk. It was just supposed to be a short walk so he would be home in plenty of time for his father's return. But he was enjoying his time outside and seeing all the flowers and trees that he had gone farther than he thought and soon discovered that he was lost.
He sat down in despair and feared for himself in the big woods all alone. What if his father couldn't find him? What if he found him but never forgave him? What if his father didn't want to find him?As the questions went around and around in his head he failed to notice a woman come up to him and ask if he was okay.
He looked up and remembered that he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. But she looked so nice and seemed so familiar, as if he knew her from somewhere. She offered to take him to her house where he could rest in the warmth of her cottage and have something to eat and drink. He knew he shouldn't go, what if she was a witch? What if she was going to eat him instead of feeding him? But as the clouds turned to rain, the chill began to take hold and he felt as if he had no choice but to follow her. He wondered as he marched along behind her if this is how nightmares started in the recesses of your brain.
The cottage was small, smaller than the cabin he lived in with his father, but it was charming. There were blankets draped around the simple furniture and bright paintings of children at play. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
She hummed a tune that seemed familiar as she stoked the fire and poured him a mug of hot tea and found a few cookies from a batch she had baked the day before. The boy ate and drank and enjoyed the fire. The woman found a book about pirates and began to read to him and before he knew it, his eyes closed and he drifted away.
He woke up, frightened and disoriented. He looked around but couldn't find the woman. He quickly put his shoes back on and ran outside to find it dark and cold. He would never be able to find his way home now. Was his father out looking for him? Was he even aware that the boy was gone?
And where was the woman? Was she a witch? Was she conjuring up some spell that would keep him a prisoner? But didn't he kind of want to be her prisoner? Suddenly he saw a light, a lantern held by the woman who also carried a basket and was singing in a language he didn't understand. She smiled when she saw him and caressed his face as she passed by. Despite his best effort, he found that he had leaned into her touch, desired it even. It was if she held some kind of power over him.
She had gathered greens for a salad and baked bread while he was sleeping and they had a wonderful meal. She kept looking at him with a soft expression and had such a gentle touch that his fear melted away and he found that she had been who he had always wanted. What he must have lost when he was so young. He wanted to stay here with her—forever.
She placed a pillow and blanket on the small couch and added logs to the fire and told him to sleep, that in the morning they would find their way back to his home. But he didn't want to go, he wanted the night to stay forever, so he could stay forever.
But morning came despite the boy willing it away. They made biscuits for breakfast and started out on their journey. The woman asked the boy about his family, but he remained quiet. He asked her questions about her family. She told him that she lived alone. He asked if that made her sad. She said it did. Everyday it did. The boy asked if she wanted to come to live in his house. His father was often sad even with the boy around and maybe since he was sad and she was sad, they would be happy together. She smiled and nodded, but he thought he could see the beginning of a tear. The boy could feel her secrets swirling around. He recognized them because his father often swirled too.
After walking around in different directions, they finally found the cabin where the boy lived. His father was outside its door, sitting with his head in his hands. He must have heard their approach as he suddenly stood up and turned towards them. "You're safe!" He declared to the boy. "I was so worried. How could you leave like that?"
The boy apologized, and the man, although very upset, took his son in his arms and held him tightly. The boy explained how he was lost but the woman had helped him. She had cared for him, and even if it was just for a brief time it had saved him. He admitted that he had at first, feared that she had been a witch, but she was too good to be that bad. He had liked her, he had loved her. He wanted her to stay with him. He had felt a deep connection to her but he wasn't sure why. But he knew he wanted her stay. He turned to ask her to stay but she was gone. He looked at his father, but he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and said there hadn't been anyone there, not for a long time.
But she had been there he was sure of it. He had felt her. Loved her. But maybe in the end, despite everything, she really was a witch. Because she was gone and he felt cursed.
To be continued when Jay reads Liam's assignment
Soundtrack: The Cauldron Born by Damh the Bard