Actually, the little boy didn’t recall his daddy ever working like Mommy did. He often saw her late at night, removing her shiny leg brace to massage her tired muscles.
Scotty realized most of the dads in his building didn’t work. They formulated important matters to discuss in the rec room of their building. The dads wouldn’t let little kids in the rec room because of the beer and smoking. So when he found Abby unconscious on the floor of her bedroom, he ran down to the basement rec room and pounded on the locked door.
“Hello, anyone in there? Daddy, I need you. Daddy, Daddy … help.” He knew Abby should go to the hospital this morning. Why didn’t Daddy take her? But no one would open the door to a crying six year old. He tried again, banging over and over. The door suddenly opened, omitting smoke and loud raucous music.
“Kid, what cha doing—screaming out here? Get lost.” The big man wore an old stained shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his fat hairy arms. He exuded an unfamiliar bad smell.
“Is my daddy here? I need him to come home; Abby’s on the floor.” Scotty danced nervously, his voice small and frightened, his wandering eye floating erratically.
“I’m not gonna say it again. Don’t be bangin’ on this door.” The big man burped, sending a gust of rancid beer breath in Scotty’s face. He cringed, the door slamming in his face.
Scotty knew saving Abby by himself would require some bravery.
He ran outside into the dirty street, his heart pounding so hard he thought the bullies in the neighborhood might hear him. Choking back his sobs, he ran up and down the street, dodging cars and screaming for the police. He glimpsed the old grannies from the neighborhood that congregate at the corner, lounging in cheap plastic chairs, holding court on the sidewalks. He scrambled out of the street, hurrying toward them.
“Abby’s going to die. She’s on the floor. Please, we need help.”
Unable to hold back the tears overflowing his wild eyes, he dragged the grannies to his family’s apartment. A nice Muslim lady sat with him while two other black grannies made a few cell phone calls. Soon, three strapping black men entered the apartment. Scotty, positive they might rob the apartment, stuck to them like glue. Relieved, he watched them lift Abby in their arms and carry her out of the apartment. He tried to follow.
“Hey kiddo, you stay here until your mom comes home. Your sister’s very sick. You need to hold the fort down. This nice lady will stay with you.” One of the black men, his eyes soft and moist, ran his hand along Scotty’s shoulder giving him a reassuring stroke and softly shut the door behind him.
The nice Muslim lady stayed with him until his mommy came home from work. He hoped Abby didn’t die. Fear made him pray.
He didn’t know much about what happened after that. His mommy asked him to stay in his room. He heard lots of crying and silences. Then his daddy came home and the screaming started. He didn’t know what it meant but he felt terror stricken anyway. He began to relax when the cops took his daddy away. Abby came home a week later, alive but painfully thin. Scotty began to sleep much, much better.
A few days later, his mother silently handed him a cardboard box, telling him to pack his toys. She folded up all their clothes except for Daddy’s, the brace on her afflicted leg clanking around the apartment as she packed up their little lives.
The night before the move, his mother sat them both down for a talk.
“Scotty, do you understand we’re moving far away?” She pulled her light brown hair back in a ponytail; long wisps escaping to frame her thin stressed face, her voice low and tired.
“Yes, Mommy,” he assured his mother, not understanding the meaning of far away. But he loved and trusted his mom. He knew every line on her wonderful face. A smile failed to appear as he scrutinized her expression. Somehow, he realized, she needed him to be okay with the move.
Abby picked him up and sat him on her lap.
“Honey, you shouldn’t strain yourself like that. The nurse said—”
“Mom, it’s okay. Let me help.” She rocked Scotty on her lap. Her pretty face lit up, her affection for Scotty giving him confidence as he looked into her eyes, laughing. “You’re our big guy aren’t you, Scotty? It’s going to be you, me and Mom. What a great team. We can do anything; right?”
“Right.” Shouting and laughing, he looked at his mom. “Right, Mommy?”
“Right, baby; a great team.” She finally joined in the laughter, her children’s optimism infectious.
Chapter 2
The scary move to Sussex County brought many changes, none the least, never again seeing his only playmate, Germaine. Germaine said he would beg his mom to bring him for a visit but Germaine didn’t have a daddy to drive him there.
Luckily, Abby recovered from her sickness. Her physician’s assistant (she never actually saw a doctor, ever, not in her whole life) determined her kidney would have no lasting damage. Maybe. From now on, they must watch very carefully to make sure Abby got to her dialysis on time. It was critical. Mom told them about the cute little neighborhood not far from their new home that offered a health clinic with the services Abby needed. Relief washed over Scotty. He didn’t want to have to save Abby again. The traumatic event reverberated in his memory, too much for a little six-year-old boy.
Their sad little three-bedroom ranch in Sussex County looked as lonely and forlorn as Scotty felt. The roof desperately needed repairs. When it rained, they ran around, laughing and bumping into one another with pots in their hands, collecting the drips. When they took showers, the water didn’t stay hot for long; last one in froze. They learned they must accept the landlord’s response to their complaints. He gave them two choices, suck it up or get out.
They did their best to make it a home. Mrs. Preston made sure she kept it spotless and full of love. Scotty screamed with happiness, thrilled to find it included a tiny back yard with his very own tree. The air smelled clean and fragrant. But, best of all, it didn’t have his daddy. His nightmares stopped. Whenever his mother mentioned he could visit with his dad, his heart raced with panic. On those occasions, he usually pottied in his bed while he slept. The next day, when his mommy changed his bed, he would tell her all about his nightmare. Her face slipped into such a haggard and defeated bearing that he felt swamped with guilt, convinced his father’s pronouncements about him might come true.
Sadly, the little boy found no playmates in his hilly little neighborhood. The homes were fully occupied by mostly black and Spanish families and a separate enclave of Muslims, of course. The children in the neighborhood took one look at his bald spots and disfiguring scars and refused to play with him, turning up their noses. They made fun of his wandering eye, calling him cootie head, dick wad, faggot and douche bag. The older boys would jeer at him, enjoying his hurt. The most aggressive pushed him to the ground, kicking dirt and gravel at him to cover his cootie bugs.
Scotty wandered around and around the neighborhood, looking for someone to play with. His loneliness made him long to grow up quickly. Then he could do anything he wanted, not needing the attention or approval of kids that felt it necessary to call him ass wipe. His memories tasted nasty, festering like an infected wound.
One day, he found the top of the hill behind his neighborhood. He discovered a curious path that tempted him into the woods. The dead leaves from tall thick grandfather oaks, dried and crinkled, disintegrating under foot as he explored. Over time, he learned to entertain himself in the woods, fighting imaginary wars with imaginary magical creatures. The woods became an enchanting place for him. He felt peace. He felt safe. He loved the small clearings drizzled with dappled sunlight, the occasional sighting of little creatures. He never felt lonely, seduced by the magic of timid rabbits, quarreling squirrels, hyperactive chipmunks and the silent family of deer; all his unwitting playmates, enchanting him with their innocence and acceptance.
Today he turned seven. He looked forward to the scrumptious cake his mother always baked for his birthday. He knew Abby planned to have a spe
cial gift for him from the meager money she earned from the Muslim family she babysat for. He could hardly contain his excitement as the school day past so slowly. He thought he would age another year while he waited. The usual snubs from his classmates mattered not, his mind focused on the happy party waiting for him at home.
Running up to his now familiar door after the school bus dropped him off, he jerked in surprise, seeing his father’s car in the drive, hearing shouts and angry voices. Letting himself in, he trembled at the sight of his father. His heart ratcheted up, thumping hard as his breathing came fast and shallow, his stomach starting a slow roil. He witnessed his father’s arms looped around his mother’s neck as he tried to force her to kiss him. She fought back, trying to slip out of his grip with little success, her balance a hindrance because of her brace. His father’s expression hardened, angry and ugly. A sneer deformed his thin lips as he slowly strangled her while Scotty beat on his father’s legs, vainly trying to protect his mother. She screamed, fighting him off until a desperate shove sent her falling back on the kitchen table where Scotty’s birthday cake sat, waiting to have the candles lit for his party. Seven beautiful blue candles on top of rich chocolate icing. His mom caught her balance on the kitchen table, sending his beautiful birthday cake flying. Everyone froze as the cake landed upside down, splattering on the hardwood floor. Staring at his ruined birthday cake, Scotty felt his stomach turn inside out, queasiness ready to explode. And, a little something new; anger. The kind of anger that festers and simmers beneath the surface, cooking in its own poison while it twists the mind with bitterness. Picking up the remains of the cake, he threw it at his father who just laughed at him, calling him a crybaby and a little turd. He wasn’t a turd. Sobbing, he ran out the door, up the hill and into the woods. He just kept running, past all his favorite spots, into the deep woods, his sobs turning to anger, magnified by the resentment of his afflictions.
Slowing down, he dropped to the ground, leaning up against a hillside unfamiliar to him. He tried to block the memory of his daddy’s belittling taunting tone and the damaged look on his mom’s face. Restlessly, he wandered along the hillside until he turned a corner, stepping back in surprise.
Before him stood a massive granite boulder. He eyeballed the massive rock, wondering how he dare claim it for his own. He noticed handholds, seemingly carved into the side of the rock. Hmm, could he pull himself up? Approaching the rock, he struggled with the handholds, finally reaching the top. What a great spot for a fort. Curling up in a depression, he felt the warmth from the sun seep from the rock into his body. His drowsy eyes slowly closed over his tear stained cheeks and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
###
The creature roused herself from a deep slumber, feeling the presence of a large life form. She sensed its closeness, but noted it was not yet in the deep quiet cavern of the Hive. She called the Hive home, her safety well assured for over a century. Sadly, she coped with constant loneliness. Her only companions were the occasional woodland creatures that found their way into the cavern. Periodically, she would venture out of the cavern to observe the behavior of the human creatures of this planet, caution an imperative.
The trauma witnessed over a century ago still smoldered sharply in her mind; the guilt, just as fresh. She could have intervened when she became suspicious of her birth Brother’s mental and physical damage during her emergence. Or perhaps it happened during the Womb’s entry into the Earth’s atmosphere. Maybe the Womb failed to properly care for Brother, although it certainly cared for her without complaint. She often suspected the Womb deliberately allowed the incident to escalate just so it could study the outcome. How else could the Womb learn how to interpret the actions of the humans? She agreed they merited study but her sensibilities cringed as the slaughter transpired. Most of the time the Womb took a hands off policy, not wanting to interfere with the culture of any species; unless the species became catastrophically aggressive to others, of course. But this was a minion, the Womb’s chosen. She remembered back a full century to the time she last laid eyes on the doomed Sister. She considered making contact without her Brother’s knowledge when the Sister suddenly appeared one day at the rock that disguised the entrance to the cavern.
As it turned out, an evil human Brother stalked the Sister. He captured her and participated in a brutal murder. She knew how bloodthirsty the evil species behaved on this planet, observing firsthand what happened to the Sister and her birth Brother and his own little furry pet from the safety of the hilltop near the forest edge. She remembered with pain, her birth Brother’s golden life force splashed on the unyielding ground. She bitterly remembered the look of astonishment then disgust, as the evil Brother that murdered him wiped the sacred life force off the heels of his boots.
The shock numbed her as the mesmerizing golden light and vital thought projections faded from Brother’s disfigured eyes. She actually felt the genetic mental connection shared by all of her species being brutally severed. Running back through the woods, she vowed never to leave the Hive until she could assure her own safety.
She watched from her hidden position in the forest as the Sister first discovered her birth Brother and carried him away from the Hive. She didn’t understand why Brother did not object. Confusion ruled as she tried to puzzle out why her birth Brother neglected to begin his mission. Instead, he involved himself intimately in the Sister’s life, apparently satisfied with the tiny part of his mission that he did manage to accomplish; creating two new Elders to assist him.
It was incomprehensible to believe the blood thirsty human Brothers would reject the very gifts meant to rescue them and justify the complex energy expended long ago on their behalf. But they had; making the unfortunate choice that pronounced their death sentence. She wondered if the humans had rejected Sister’s new tail. The humans must realize by now that a tail is nothing new to their species. The success of the mission demanded complex alterations of their physical and biological systems. It’s a good thing only the tail manifested, not the antlers. That would have been a disaster.
Determination coursed through her solar veins. Her job rested on her ability to insure the Elder’s grand plan, offering salvation for both species, not failure. Success would insure the redemption from the Womb that minions sought for hundreds of thousands of years. Perhaps the humans need a different type of manifestation. She would have to ponder. If she could alter a few of her own cells and enzymes, a solution might be available. Maybe the Womb would help her. But her intention would never include getting rid of her own beautiful tail. The engineering for that would be too complex to attempt without help. She felt comforted by her tail; even as she knew it had a life of its own.
She curiously wondered why her Brother did not try to contact her. She would have been willing to complete the mission in his stead. As things stood, now that Brother had expired, her honor (and genetic programming) obligated her to eventually complete the mission for him anyway.
But she remained hesitant. Over the last century she observed the savage violence this species perpetrated on itself. She understood why the Womb authorized the mission. And just like the Womb, she now saw little reason to save this species. She suspected the Elders truly did make a tragic mistake. They offered excuse after excuse for this life form, hoping evolution would tame them. Now, influence from the Elders no longer a factor, the Womb passed judgment, ordering the mission. But the possibility existed her decision might abet an error. She decided to take her time. This planet needed much more observation; direct observation. She hoped the Womb would allow her the time; if she could just find, The One.
It would truly be a tragedy if she decided to let this species self-destruct, along with Brother’s newly obtained Elder state now tragically lost. What a surprising discovery that was. Her species said goodbye to Elders long ago. In anger for their hubris, the Womb altered the minion’s ability to become Elders after discovering their fateful mistake, forever preventing healing of humans but not
other life forms. Now, minion expiration came thru old age or the birth process. It appears for some reason, Brother’s own genetic instructions, meant to prevent the conversion, failed. She could not know for sure without a lab at her disposal. Her mind, distracted by the biology, pondered the complexity of their enzymes.
She wondered if she could achieve that lofty state of Elder herself. Had she already? She easily surpassed her normal life span long ago. She would never know until the first opportunity to heal a Brother or Sister presented itself. Yet she refused to try until she decided this species deserved it. As of yet, her doubts remained strong.
She could stay in the Hive as long as it took but she was in doubt as to the amount of time the Womb would allow her. She wanted to take her time until she received a sign of worthiness. But she was terribly lonely. Her species thrived with close contact. They lived in communal groups; hives. Similar to what was called families here on Earth, only much larger. She noticed that even most of the other species of this planet lived in families. Of course, she expected human life on this planet to have evolved similar habits. Sighing, she worried about the damage perpetual isolation would do to her mental state.
The Hive, under the supervision of the Womb would always take care of all needs a carbon based life form required to survive; irrespective of their metabolisms. The Womb, being indestructible, easily accomplished all tasks in the pursuit of creating life. But she remained alone, unable to stop the toll her isolation undeniably looked to extract. Surely, her own iridescent eyes dimmed. Maybe the time to do something about her dilemma neared.
Echo Page 2
