“W…what w…w…would I have t…to do?” Buck asked, and his throat hurt with the struggle.
The man’s eyebrows twitched as they rose, and he stared intently down at Buck. He seemed on the verge of answering with a question, and then he checked himself, opened the screen, and said, “Come on in.”
•••
Inside, Buck sat stiffly on one of the leather chairs, and Jacob settled himself in the other, facing him, wiping his hands on the dish towel.
“About your stuttering, you mean?” Jacob said.
Buck nodded.
Jacob thought a minute, then said, “Listen, Buck, I’m not sure I want to take you on. I don’t play around. Either you’re in or you’re not. I’ve never worked with someone as young as you. All my clients were in the military, and I’ll treat you like I would any soldier or sailor. But it’s hard work; I’ll tell you that up front.”
“I have to h…hold my b…breath or what?”
“You’re doing enough of that already.” Jacob studied Buck some more. “What made you change your mind?”
In halting phrases, Buck told him what had happened at the healing service when he was prayed over by Sister Pearson. How the guys on the bus mocked him, how he had embarrassed his sister when he met her boyfriend, how the whole family worried about him and tried not to show it.
“So you’ve spent most of your life trying not to stutter, is that it?” said Jacob.
Wasn’t it obvious? Again Buck nodded.
“And how’s that working?”
“It’s n…not.”
“Of course. The more you try to hold it back, the more your throat muscles tighten and the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more you fight it, and this is something you worry about every time you open your mouth.”
Exactly.
“S…so, can you cure m…me or n…not?”
Jacob shook his head. “That’s what’s causing all the trouble—trying so hard to stop stuttering that you tense up, choke up, tighten your jaw, grind your teeth, blink your eyes, shift your feet—do all manner of things to force the words out.”
All true.
“If I work with you,” Jacob went on, “—big if—I’m going to teach you how to stutter more, not less. I’m going to show you how to let it come out easily, naturally, letting go of all that tensing up and holding back. You are going to learn to stutter like nobody’s business.”
“But I d…don’t want to do it at all!” Buck protested.
“You want to be normal, and normal people are disfluent sometimes. Everybody stammers occasionally, even presidents, and I have tapes to prove it. We just do it without thinking, and nobody notices. Nobody cares. It’s when you start fighting it, making it a big deal, that the trouble begins.”
It made sense and yet it didn’t. Jacob pulled himself to his feet to go to the kitchen and check on something he was heating for his supper, leaving Buck alone for a few minutes to figure it out. If most people stuttered occasionally and didn’t even notice, Buck was thinking, what had made him start getting so upset about it? He couldn’t even remember a time he didn’t stutter. Couldn’t remember a time he didn’t feel different because he had this secret worry, this constant fear of stuttering.
What would it be like not to worry about a particular word? he wondered. How many times had he said theater because if he said show he’d probably stutter on the S sound? Or the other way around? How many times, because he had trouble with the M sound, he’d say the day after tomorrow instead of Monday?
Jacob came back with a calendar and a pair of eyeglasses. He lowered himself in the chair again and adjusted the glasses on his nose. “If you sign up with me, I want to see you three times a week, about forty minutes each time.”
Three times a week! Buck stared at him, openmouthed. “How c…can I pay you for that?”
“All you have to do is show up. You don’t show up, it’s over.”
“You wouldn’t charge?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I can’t. I let my certification lapse when I retired. So I’m working with you as a friend, not a professional.”
“H…how do you think it w…w…will help?”
“I want to get you to the place where you can glide in and out of a stutter easily, naturally, without all the drama that gets people’s attention—the tongue twisting and jaw tightening and eye blinking and stuff. You’re not getting anywhere doing that. The words don’t come out any easier. All you’re doing is running backward.”
They sat for fifteen or twenty seconds staring at each other. Was this a game? Buck wondered. Was he supposed to believe in this guy any more than he could believe in Sister Pearson? What kind of therapy was this? Still…
“Think for a minute what your life would be like if you lost your fear of stuttering, Buck. Just the fear. Not have that sick-to-the-stomach feeling when the sergeant—I mean, teacher—asks you a question. Not have to change a sentence around to keep from saying a word that usually gives you trouble. To be able to tell your friends a joke without your mouth drying up…”
For a long minute, Buck didn’t answer. He was thinking about that last day of school—To be or not to be. How he couldn’t even read that out loud.
“I guess…I’d b…b…be like everyone else…except I st…st…stuttered.” He made himself say the hated word.
“That’s it, Buck. You’ve nailed it. Except that if you were like most other people you’d stumble right over a word and not even stop.”
No. That was too easy, or too hard. Buck felt confused. It seemed as though Jacob was saying that the whole problem was being afraid to stutter. Wasn’t it the stuttering that made him afraid in the first place? But what did he have to lose by trying Jacob’s way? Correction: what other way did he have? School began again in three months. Did he want to go back the same way he was before?
“We’ll work on things together here and you can work on some of it at home,” Jacob said. And before Buck could ask, he added, “No one has to know we’re doing this, but it’s okay if you want to tell them. In fact, it might be a good idea to let your parents know.”
Buck shook his head. The last thing he wanted was everybody watching to see if he was improving. And if he failed, why let his family in on it? Just another disappointment they could do without.
He realized that Jacob was waiting for his final decision. The shaggy-haired man was leaning forward, hands on his knees, signaling that it was time for Buck to leave. “You don’t have to decide now,” Jacob said. “Tell me when you come by on Tuesday. But here’s the deal….” He paused to make sure Buck was listening. “If you quit on me…even once…we’re done. Just like in the military. You don’t stop when the going gets tough. Once you say you’ve had it and walk out that door, it’s over. Understood?”
“Yeah. I want to d…do it.”
“Okay, then. I’m flexible about the day and time, as long as you get in three sessions a week. Name the day.”
“Uh…Tuesday?” Buck said.
“What time?”
Buck thought. “One o’clock?”
“All right. Call me if we need to change it.”
“I’ll be here,” Buck said.
•••
He was amazed at Jacob’s offer. Amazed at Jacob, period! A different personality than he’d seen so far.
What was he getting himself into? Buck wondered as he pedaled home—Jacob getting all military on him. How hard could it possibly be? He didn’t have to do push-ups, did he? Slog through mud on his stomach? Still, he wished he were more enthused about it, not considering it a last resort.
At home, he could hear 60 Minutes coming from the living room. He was getting ice from the fridge when his dad called to him. “Buck? That you?”
“Yeah?”
Don Anderson came to the doorway of the kitchen.
“Wondered where you went,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that Joel and I will probably be cutting some timber over near Coals
ville next week—Thursday, maybe.”
At last! A day when he could count on everyone being gone—Mom at work, Gramps at the sawmill…Mel had already said he had a run all the way to Kansas and back, and Katie was no problem. She was at Amy’s so much it was a wonder she didn’t pack a suitcase and move in with her. Buck liked Katie’s best friend, mainly because she never said much to him. Hi, Buck! she’d say when she came over. Hi, he’d answer. But what kind of friendship was that—liking someone because she left you alone?
And then he heard his dad say, “You want to come along, we’ll find something for you to do.”
“What?” Buck said.
“Coalsville on Thursday. We’ll be cutting timber.”
“Uh…I don’t know,” Buck said.
“Come on! Be glad to have you.” Now it was Be Nice to Buck week. When he still didn’t answer, his dad gave him a quizzical look. “Thought you were wanting a chance to see us down some trees. Dad said you were asking about it the other day.”
“Yeah, well…maybe. Got a lot of things I w…want to do this summer.”
“Glad to hear that,” said his dad, and there was a gentleness to his voice. “Hope some of those things involve friends, not just going off by yourself all the time.”
“D…don’t worry. I got friends,” said Buck.
The hardest part of going back into the Hole, he realized, was not the actual going, but keeping it secret from everyone except David.
He didn’t even tell David about Jacob, however. David texted him that night.
David: so school’s out, and mom’s already programmed the next 3 months
Buck: yeah? doing what
David: relatives, trip, relatives, science camp, relatives, survivor camp
Buck: whats that? u moving 2 the jungle?
David: learning 2 live without ur cell phone and stuff u should c the list of things they confiscate—electric toothbrushes, cameras, anything that has a charger
Buck: your mom hate u or something?
David: she says she wants me 2 see how clever i am on my own she’s going on a trip with her girlfriend then and wanted something special 4 me 2 do
Buck: tell her i can give u a job of caving assistant
David: don’t i wish how was ur last day of school? somebody released all the frogs in the biology lab here
Buck: yay frogs
David: in the library principal NOT happy
Buck: LOL i called pete ketterman puke face
David: !!!!!?????!!!!!????
Buck: i know
David: he hear?
Buck: he heard
David: u want 2 die young?
Buck: guess i’m in 4 it now….
Monday, the first official day of summer vacation, and Buck smiled at the sunshine that fell across his pillow. Then he closed his eyes and slept a half hour more.
By the time he came down for breakfast, Katie had already taken over the kitchen table with her drawing. At the start of each year, Gramps gave her the old calendar at the sawmill when he hung the new, and she used the backside of each large sheet for her creations. She had collected quite a few calendars now, and sometimes, like today, she taped some of the pages together to make an even bigger canvas.
“Well, look who decided to get up,” Katie teased, turning her pencil sideways to do some shading.
“Look who’s showing off,” said Buck as he set his bowl on the table. “What are you d…designing now?”
Katie quickly covered the paper with her hands. “I’ll let you see it when I’m done.”
Like Buck, Katie was barefoot, her flip-flops abandoned beneath the table. She waited until he was opening a box of cereal, then sat back and surveyed what she’d drawn so far, her uncombed ponytail dangling over the shoulder of her blue T-shirt.
“What are you g…going to do with all those? You’ve already c…covered half your walls,” Buck said.
“I don’t know. It’s just fun.” She nodded toward the fridge. “I saved you some strawberries.”
“Sweet,” Buck said, and got out the milk.
A cell phone buzzed from somewhere in the other room and Katie leaped up. “That’s Amy,” she said, and ran to answer.
Grinning, Buck stepped over to see her drawing, but suddenly leaned in a little closer, still holding the milk carton. It appeared to be a diagram of an outdoor area, a large bank of trees in the background. The lower part of the paper was shaded to indicate earth.
Hole, Katie had printed, an arrow pointing to a small opening at the surface, the start of a twisting underground passageway….
Buck stared in disbelief. How did she know? How could she possibly have…?
Katie came back in the kitchen. “Amy has an idea for…” She caught Buck studying her drawing. “I said don’t look!” she cried, and ran over to shield the paper with her arms.
“What is this?” Buck asked.
“You know I don’t let anyone see my stuff till it’s finished,” she scolded. “People start criticizing before it’s done and it ruins everything!”
“Okay, so I looked. But I’m not c…criticizing. I just…wondered what this is…,” Buck said, pointing.
Katie gave him an exasperated glare and sat down again. “If you must know, I’m designing a fantastic park and playground. I want all kinds of different stuff for kids to do. This will be an underground tunnel they can crawl through, but it’s got to have a roof over it or water would collect inside.”
Buck’s heartbeat began to slow and he could almost breathe again.
“And over here,” Katie said, now that she had his attention, “at this end of the park, I’ve got this big pond that turns into an ice rink in winter….”
Buck made sure that everything he said about the design was complimentary, and finally he sat down across from her to eat his breakfast.
Katie sighed and began drawing again. “I’m making a whole city. I’ve already got a layout of the town—the streets and the town center and parks and stuff. When you start something, you have to think of every little thing, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Buck. “I sure do.” There was an occasional clunk from the front of the house. “What’s Uncle Mel up to?”
“I think he said he was going to scrub the porch or something,” Katie answered. “Did you ever notice how he always does some nice thing for Mom before he leaves on a trip?”
“Just b…being part of the family, I g…guess,” said Buck.
Katie got up to check the washing machine. “I’m going to start the last load. If you want anything washed, let me have it. That’s all I have to do for Mom today.”
So much activity! Buck thought. Didn’t anybody just kick back and enjoy a June breeze while there still was one?
After he’d gathered up some socks and underwear for Katie, he went out onto the front porch to find his uncle in shorts, barefoot too, a large scrub brush in hand, bringing it down hard on one side of the doorframe. One half of the porch wall was a lighter shade of white than the other.
Seeing Buck, Mel said, “Can’t for the life of me see how a doorframe can get so smudged.” He wiped one thick arm across his face, the arm with the ship tattoo on it. “Come on. Pick up a rag there and help me out. Your mom might forget about painting this house again if the porch doesn’t look so dirty.”
Buck grinned and picked up a rag. Mom and Dad wouldn’t take any rent from Mel—after all, they were lodgers too, since it was Gramps’s big farmhouse to begin with—but they all paid back his kindness in other ways—this, for one.
“So what you up to today?” Mel asked as they scrubbed.
“W…weeding. The usual,” Buck told him.
For a while they were working side by side. Then Mel climbed up the stepladder to wash the boards near the porch ceiling. The swish and swash of the rag and brush alternated sometimes with his grunts.
“Do you b…believe she can d…do it? Sister Pearson?” Buck asked suddenly, the question that had consumed him the d
ay before.
At first he thought his uncle wouldn’t answer. The brush just kept swishing away.
Finally Mel said, “Well, you notice any difference?”
“No.”
“Could be it takes a while….”
They went on working and Buck said, “C…couple times she called out s…something about a p…person she didn’t even know, and she was r…right about what was wrong with him.”
“Huh.” Mel came down off the stepladder and dipped his brush in the sudsy water, knocked it against the side of the pail, then climbed back up again.
“Mom believes in her, though. M…Mom thinks it’s all m…me not believing enough.”
“She say that?”
“N…not exactly, but I can tell.”
“Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, they say, but…I can’t see him waiting to be begged to do something he already knows needs fixing. But don’t you be telling your Ma how I feel, ’cause I don’t have any business in it.”
“But do you think Sister P…Pearson’s a fake?”
Mel gave a loud sigh. “All I can tell you, Buck, is I travel all across the country, and I talk to different people and hear things on the radio when I’m doing a run. The local stations, my CB radio, public radio…I listen to ’em all. I hear country music and truckers crabbing to each other. I hear folks on talk shows and book writers and college professors, and I heard this one program telling how con-men preachers can fool folks into donating lots of money that never goes to what the preacher says it will.”
“How?”
“By making them believe they have special powers. Sometimes the greeters out front find out things about folks when they show up for a healing service—like, the man in the blue shirt in the wheelchair, maybe, tells them he has kidney stones, and they’ll get that fact to the preacher some way. And then the preacher will call it out during the evening like he’s getting the message that very minute from God, and the man in the blue shirt can’t figure how else he knows.”
“B…but if he doesn’t get better?”
“By then the preacher’s gone. Or the man just keeps waiting. Or the preacher will say that the man didn’t have enough faith in him. Or maybe the man does get better, but would have anyway without all that fussing over him. But what’s to say that Sister Pearson really does have the gift of healing? I don’t know. That’s not my department.”
Going Where It's Dark Page 9
