Finally, she moved over to his bed, and he scooted to the side, giving her room to sit next to him. Keeping her voice low and private, she said, “I know there are things that you remember that are so very painful, Asher. I wish that I could wave a magic wand and make all those memories go away.”
“Do you think that I’ll always look like this, Miss Ethel?” His voice shook because he knew that she would answer him truthfully. Almost afraid to look at her, he forced his eyes upward.
“My dear boy, you will grow big and strong, and one day will be able to put so many of your early memories behind you because you are the very best and deserve the very best.”
Her words, as always, provided comfort. He snuggled down under the covers, and she tucked him in tightly. Leaning over to kiss his forehead, she whispered, “I love you, dear boy.”
“I love you too, Miss Ethel.”
He watched her walk out of the room, flipping off the light as she went, the room now lit by the small nightlight she had in the corner. If only it was enough to chase away the scary memories. Those were worse than any imaginary nightmare.
2
Three Years Earlier
The day was hot, but Asher tugged on his long-sleeved shirt, making sure his arms were covered. He watched as the other children gathered in groups, laughing and playing, on their way into the large brick building. His stomach ached with a combination of nerves, excitement, and hunger. Other moms and dads were standing nearby, hugging their children and waving. His mother was not there for him. When he had asked if she would walk him to school, she laughed. “Boy, nobody’s gonna hold your hand through life, so you best get used to it now.”
As he walked toward the front doors, he could not help but notice the clean clothes everyone wore. Their pants and shirts fit. White shoes that look like they were being worn for the first time. Shoelaces neatly tied. Hair combed. Faces scrubbed. His hand moved up to his head, trying to slick some of his hair down, but he was too short to see in the bathroom mirror and had not been able to check his appearance.
He did not like where he and his mom were staying now. They had not had their own home for as long as he could remember. His mom had mentioned a place they used to have when he was little, but all he could remember was the sofa he slept on at her boyfriend, Tim’s, house.
He remembered one place that had a lot of beds in a big room. His mom called it a shelter instead of a home, but he liked it. There were other kids who played there, and he got to sleep on a cot next to his mom. Now that she had a boyfriend, he had to sleep on the sofa by himself. Once, when he had had a nightmare and tried to go into the bedroom to find his mom, Tim got mad. Asher lifted his hand and touched his cheek where the bruise was long gone but the pain of being hit across the face remained fresh.
He glanced back at his long-sleeve shirt, wishing that he could wear a T-shirt like the other boys. Swallowing deeply, he battled back the tears that threatened to fall at the thought of the scars on the inside of his arms. The first time Tim got angry at him, the fiery burn of the cigarette against his young flesh made him scream in agony, but that only served to make him angrier. He had run to his mom, but she had shaken her head quickly and said, “Hush, boy. Don’t go doing anything to make Tim mad. I ain’t going back to the shelter, so you behave and don’t mess things up between him and me.”
He had learned quickly to stay out of Tim’s way, finding places to hide when Tim came home from work mad or came home staggering when he had been out drinking. There was a small closet under the stairs that held coats, boots, and some boxes, and he had made a space for himself to run to. But both arms bore the scars of more cigarette burns. It finally stopped when his mom convinced Tim that with him going to school, they did not want others to notice. But then, Tim made sure his words were just as painful.
Sucking in a deep breath, he made his way into the school building, his stomach hurting with anticipation, and yet excitement at being around so many other children. Not knowing where to go, he stood in the middle of the crowded hallway until a kind-faced woman walked over and smiled down at him.
“Hi there,” she said, looking down at him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Do you know which class you’re in?”
Shaking his head, he stared up at the pretty lady, wondering if she was a teacher. Tim had teased him, “All them teachers are witches in disguise. They’re just waiting for ugly little runts like you to misbehave.” He had been scared, but his mom just laughed.
This woman did not seem like a witch, but he was still cautious. Continuing to shake his head, he breathed easier when she looked at the name tag his mom had pinned to his shirt that morning.
“Jonathan Asher Swain. Well, how lucky we are,” the teacher said, her smile still in place and her blue eyes twinkling. “I am Miss Barclay, and you’re in my class.” She pointed to the door next to her and said, “You can go on in.”
Moving to the doorway, he looked around at the desks arranged in groups, bright pictures on the walls, large windows where the sunlight poured in, and other children putting their packs away in cubbies with hooks.
All of the other children seemed larger than he except for a few of the girls. Once they found their seats, he stared at the little girl sitting next to him. She had a red scar that ran from the bottom of her nose to her upper lip. Her dress seemed too large, and her shoes were scuffed like his. While the other girls had bows in their hair, hers was cut to just below her ears, and even though she kept tucking it back, it would continually fall into her face.
She glanced at him, her dark eyes large and appearing just as scared as his. He offered a slight smile and was happy when she smiled back. He looked at her name tag, but unable to read, had no idea what her name was.
“I saw you playing the other day. I think you live close to me. I’m Penny.”
Grinning with excitement at the possibility of making a friend, he said, “My name is Johnny.”
By the time he sat down at the lunch table next to Penny, he was sure that kindergarten was going to be the best place in the world. While all the other children pulled out fancy lunch boxes filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit, pudding cups, and drinks, he took comfort in his plastic bag with peanut butter crackers in it when Penny opened up her paper sack.
“No wonder you’re such a skinny kid,” another child taunted. “How come you don’t have any good food?”
Looking over, he was not sure what they meant. He liked peanut butter crackers…it was the only lunch he ever got at home. Shrugging his thin shoulders, he looked down as he nibbled on his crackers.
“My stepdad made a sandwich,” Penny said, “and I can’t eat all of it.” She tore off half of a ham sandwich and passed it to him.
It looked good and smelled even better. Handing her half of his peanut butter crackers, they shared their lunch, ignoring the smirks from the children sitting around them. As the school year rolled by, his friendship with Penny grew. While some of the kids were mean to them, it only served to make him like her more.
Because she did live near him, they got to play with each other outside of school. He learned that her mom was dead and because there were no other relatives she lived with her stepdad. It did not take long for them to share secrets. Her stepdad drank a lot too, often staying out all night. He hated that for Penny, but she shrugged and replied, “It’s not so bad. Sometimes I get scared when I wake up at night and there’s no one there.”
He remembered the first time she had seen his arms. It had been a hot day, and they were playing in Tim’s yard after school. He had pulled off his shirt, and she had exclaimed over the puckered scars. He looked down at the ugly skin and shrugged, telling her what had happened. Penny had reached out, and with the lightest touch ran her finger over the scars and then lifted her gaze to his. Stunned, he watched as a tear slid down her cheek. He watched it fall and land on his arm. Fighting the urge to cry himself, he could not remember his mother ever crying for him. She cried when Tim was mad
and thought he was going to kick them out, but she had never cried when Johnny had been hurt.
Not knowing what to say, he pulled his hand away and bent to snag his shirt off the steps. Slipping it back on, he buttoned it up, covering the scars, hoping that if Penny did not see them anymore, she would not be sad.
“Hey, big ears! It’s no wonder the two of you are hanging out together. You two are so ugly no one else wants to play with you!”
“You don’t even know how to comb your hair!”
“Even my mom said she’s never seen a boy as scrawny as you!”
He swung around and stared out into the street, recognizing several of the older boys from the neighborhood. They went to the same school, but most were in a higher grade. One of the boys was from his class, the one who was always trying to trip him when he walked down the hall.
Angry, his fingers clenched into fists at his side. They were much larger, and he had had enough lessons taught to him by Tim to know that strength could be painful.
“Ouch!” Penny cried, and he swung his gaze around to see her clutching her leg, a trickle of blood running toward her sock.
The boys laughed, and he saw one of them bent to pick up another rock from the road. Before he had a chance to react, another small rock came flying. Without thinking, he threw his small body in front of Penny’s, the rock hitting him squarely in the back.
As several more rocks came flying, so did the taunts. “He’s trying to protect her, but he’s so skinny, it won’t do any good!”
Just then, a shout from a neighbor sent the boys scurrying on down the street. His back stung, and he was unable to keep the tears from falling this time. Lifting away from Penny, his chin quivered as she stared up at him, wide-eyed.
Tears welled in her eyes as she said, “Are you okay?”
Nodding, embarrassed as the insults stung almost as much as the rocks, he pushed back and swiped at his tears, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw the small trickle of blood on her leg and said, “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
She pushed herself up and wiped her palms on her ill-fitting dress. “I’m sorry you got hurt, too.”
They moved silently to the front stoop and sat down on the top step. Neither spoke for several minutes.
“My mom used to tell me that I was pretty,” Penny said, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees, propping her head up with her fist tucked under her chin. “She could cook good, and we always had food in the house. She and I would bake cookies together.”
He turned his head and looked toward her, seeing the longing in her eyes. His mama never told him he looked good. She certainly did not cook often, and there was never extra food in the house. He was not sure he had ever had a homemade cookie. But at that moment, he was so glad that Penny had had that.
Continuing, she said, “She died last year, and my stepdad isn’t doing too good. He doesn’t go to the grocery store very often, so I just eat what I can when he does go.” She sighed, adding, “He never tells me I’m pretty. He just tells me that he never planned on being stuck with a kid that wasn’t his.”
Staring at her, he thought about Penny compared to the other girls in their kindergarten class. Those with clean, pretty dresses. Bows and barrettes in their hair. New backpacks and fun lunch boxes. But not one of them had ever paid any attention to him. Their eyes never landed on him and then smiled. They never sought him out at recess or to sit with him at lunch. Wanting to take the sadness from her voice, he said, “I think you’re pretty.” As soon as the words left his mouth and the smile returned to her face, he knew they were true.
He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed, and added, “I know I’m smaller than the other boys. I know my ears are big, and my hair never lays down straight. Mama says we don’t have any money for new clothes—”
Her tiny hand on his halted his words. “I think you’re pretty, too.”
Ducking his head, he said, “Boys aren’t supposed to be pretty.”
She giggled and said, “You know what I mean.”
Unable to keep the grin from his face, he realized the sting from the rocks on his back no longer hurt. The roar of a loud truck coming down the road interrupted what he wanted to say, and instead, he jumped up. “You need to leave, Penny. That’s my mom’s boyfriend coming, and he always comes home from work in a bad mood.”
Seeming to understand the urgency, she jumped up, and with a wave, ran down the street toward her house. He wanted to stay on the step and watch her until she was out of sight but did not want to take a chance on facing Tim’s ire. Hurrying inside, he glanced at his mom lying on the sofa. Chances were if Tim found his mom sleeping from drinking too much and no food fixed, they would get into a screaming argument.
Slipping into the closet, he settled on his blanket behind one of the large boxes. With a flashlight, he opened the picture book that he had borrowed from the school library. He still could not read yet, but understood the stories, nonetheless. While the screaming and insults ensued from the living room, he immersed himself into a world where a beautiful princess fell in love with the handsome prince.
* * *
By the next year, he and Penny were inseparable and lucky enough to be in the same first-grade class. He had not grown much but had learned to endure the taunts. He had been called a runt by his mom enough times and insulted continually by Tim that while the barbs from the other children hurt, he had become accustomed to trying to stay out of everyone’s way. Lying low had become a way of life for him.
He used to wonder years later if he could have known the events of that fateful day if he would have done anything differently. But at the time, the day was like any other.
Penny had come over to play after school, and even though Tim would soon be home, they had run around in the yard enjoying the sunshine. No other kids had walked down the street, so their hearts were light and their laughter joyful.
At one point, they sat on the step, and she held up her pinky, looking at him expectantly. He immediately linked his pinky with hers, not even knowing what she was going to ask him to pinky swear to. It did not matter, because he would have promised her anything.
“Pinky swear that we’ll always be friends,” she said.
“That’s easy,” he replied. “I pinky swear that we’ll always be friends. In fact, I can make it even better. I pinky swear that I’ll always take care of you.”
Her smile lit up her face, but before he had a chance to say anything else, he heard the rumble of Tim’s truck coming down the street.
“You’ve got to go!” he said and watched as she scrambled to her feet. With her usual wave goodbye, she ran to the end of the driveway and began walking down the sidewalk.
Looking in the other direction, he watched as Tim’s truck weaved all over the road. Staring in horror, he watched as another car veered to avoid being hit by Tim’s truck. The car jumped the curb and hit Penny. Her scream pierced the air as his feet stayed rooted to the steps for a moment before he ran toward her. She lay on the sidewalk, blood everywhere, no longer screaming. Her eyes were closed, and his breath halted in his throat as he watched as neighbors poured from their houses.
He looked at her unmoving body and remembered months before when they had discovered a beautiful cardinal that had flown into a window. A few feathers were ruffled, but it lay still. He had not understood what had happened until Penny explained that the bird was dead. He looked at her in curiosity, pain etched across her face when she told him that the bird was now like her mother…no longer alive but had gone to heaven. "What’s heaven?” he had asked, never having heard the word. Shrugging, Penny simply replied, “It’s a pretty place up in the sky where people go when they die, and they can look down and see us. My stepdad says that’s why I need to behave because my mom is in heaven and can watch me.”
He had not understood at the time and did not understand now, but he turned and ran back toward his house, no longer wanting to
see Penny look like the cardinal.
As his mother staggered out of the house, her screams took the place of Penny’s as they watched Tim stagger drunkenly from his truck.
The next several hours seemed to pass in a haze as his young mind tried to process all that was happening. The fire truck, its siren blaring as it roared down the street. The ambulance, the lights flashing in a mesmerizing pattern as the rescue workers loaded Penny onto a stretcher. The back doors slamming shut before the ambulance roared away. The police questioning the driver of the car before talking to Tim. His mother screaming and crying and cursing as they placed handcuffs on Tim and pushed him into the back of one of their cars.
When the road had cleared, his mother whirled around, her anger pouring out at him. “I didn’t give you permission for her to be here! If she had not been here, none of this would’ve happened! It’s all your fault, you stupid runt!”
Terrified, he ran into the house and hid in the closet. As angry as his mother was, he felt sick thinking about how mad Tim would be when he got home from the police station. His mother never came to look for him, and when he snuck out of the closet later, he found her passed out on the bed.
3
Two weeks later, he found himself standing on the front porch of a large house, a large, plastic garbage bag holding all of his possessions at his side. While he had been at school the day after Penny had been struck by the car, the school counselor had pulled him out of his classroom to talk to him, along with the principal and another woman who said she was a social worker. They asked about his mom and Tim. They asked if Tim had ever done anything bad to him, and he showed them his arms. As they shook their heads and talked amongst themselves, he felt the sting of tears, now terrified that his mom and Tim would know that he had told someone.
Asher: Heroes at Heart Page 2
