Joey and the Magic Map

by Tory Anderson

  Joey fought back fear that wanted to take over. He thought of Captain Call and Tahee. They had been so strong in the face of death. He wasn’t facing death; not yet anyway. He could get through the night.

  Remembering what Tahee had taught him Joey went to the meadow and gathered armloads of the tall grasses and wild flowers. It took several trips. He had quite a nest built when he was finished. Joey gathered more wood and added some to the fire before nestling down into the grasses. He could smell the green. Joey lay facing the fire. The forest, though pleasant enough in the daytime, turned sinister in the dark.

  Joey found comfort staring into the embers of the fire. He had lived an unbelievable day. He could feel a low throb in his hips from the bruising. He had faced the Blood-winged Eagle and helped Tahee rescue the girl. A feeling of happiness swept over him. Where had that brave Joey come from?

  His mind went to the lake and the panic he had felt struggling in the water. From courage to panic in just two minutes. Was it just him or did this happen to everyone who sought courage? At least his panic hadn’t won—he had survived the water. Then he had built a fire without matches and caught a fish without a fishing pole.

  “Yes, what a day,” Joey mumbled. He imagined sitting under the weeping willow telling Glory and Story all about it. In the back of his mind, where he worked to keep it, was the fact he had lost the map. With a mixture of happiness and anxiety Joey drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime during the night Joey woke up needing to relieve himself. It took him a long moment to remember where he was. The moon was out and bathed the landscape in a soft, white glow. The forest sat silent in deep shadow. Joey turned his back to it and took a few steps toward the lake to take care of business. As he stood there his sleepy mind cleared a little. He tried to pretend that this was a dream. He wasn’t really alone by this lake with no way to get home. Once again fear tried to rise and take over. Joey, with sleepy determination pushed it back down. Shivering in the cold night air he hurried to get back to the small comfort his grass bed gave him.

  He was in such a hurry that he almost missed it. Far across the lake he saw a light. It was small and soft like a flashlight or lantern. The light dimmed and brightened as it moved slowly through the trees. Joey watched, confused. The land was uninhabited. Beezer had said so. Who was over there? What was over there? Did he really want to meet the owner of the light? Yes. The light was the only hope he had.

  As he raised his arm to wave and shout, the light disappeared for good. He stared at the spot where it disappeared for several minutes praying that it would come back. It didn’t.

  “Oh please, PLEASE!” he mumbled. He started walking quickly on the lakeshore. He couldn’t wait for morning to follow the light. The landscape dimmed to near blackness. Joey looked up to see that the moon was setting. Soon it would be too dark to find his bed again let alone walk around the lake. Shivering from cold and excitement he stepped back into his camp. He added wood to the fire before crawling back into his earthen bed and pulling grass over him.

  Excitement and longing, as well as the cold, kept him awake for a long time. Eventually, with only the stars piercing the darkness in the valley, Joey finally fell asleep. He dreamed of his golden room in the attic. He was watching himself sleep on his bed. He still had his clothes on. His door slowly opened. Glory and Story tip-toed in giving each other the “shush” sign with a finger to their lips. They took turns at each window, pointing at things they saw. They gravitated to his shelves where his models sat. They picked them up one at a time to look closer. They were told to never touch his models, but as Joey watched he didn’t care. It made him happy to see their delight in the ships, rockets, and airplanes.

  Mrs. Johanaby came in. Glory and Story turned with a guilty jerk when they heard her. She gave them the “You know you’re in trouble look. Joey knew that look. It sent a thrill of happiness through him to see it now. Glory and Story quickly put the models down. The landing gear broke off one of the airplanes. Glory gave a horrified little laugh in her usual style and rushed out of the room with Story.

  Mrs. Johanaby came over to the sleeping Joey and ran her fingers gently through his hair. She took his shoes off his feet and placed them neatly by his bed. Even though he was only watching her do this, Joey could fee her warm touch. He tried desperately to wake as she walked out of the room, but couldn’t.

  Chapter 15

  The sun was shining down fully upon Joey when he opened his eyes.

  “Oh,” he said, sitting up stiffly.

  He looked at his fire. It was only cold ashes.

  “Dang,” he thought.

  The thrill of building a fire was gone. It was only a lot of work now. The air was chilly, but the sun was warm on his back. Joey was content just to sit for a while and wake up. He had seen vultures in trees sit with their back to the sun and wings spread as they warmed up. He spread his arms, but quickly folded them again. The vulture trick didn’t work for him. He noticed grass and bits of leaves stuck to his shirt and pants. As he brushed at them he noticed how dirty his hands were.

  “I’m a mess,” he mumbled. Looking at the lake he thought of washing up. In spite of the sunshine the air was chilly. The thought of splashing cold lake water on himself didn’t motivate him. “Later, when it’s warmer,” he promised himself.

  Joey had spent a night out all by himself; and he had done it with no supplies.

  “Well, would you look at me,” he said, standing up. “I’m a regular mountain man like Grizzly Adams.”

  Even with the brave words he couldn’t fool himself. He wasn’t looking forward to another day alone here. This day alone would be followed by another day alone, followed by another. His courage was failing fast.

  “Oh, Beezer. I need help.” He blinked back tears.

  Joey looked through his tears at the lake. His map home sat at the bottom. He hated the lake.

  He lifted his eyes to the forest on the other side. He remembered bits of dreams—of being asleep in his room, of Glory and Story, of his Mom. He remembered a moonlit night and a light moving through trees.

  “Wait,” Joey said. “the light wasn’t a dream.” Excitement grew within him. He stood up and studied the edge of the forest on the other side of the lake. The forest was still in shadow. Joey saw no light or any sign of life. Something had been over there last night. He had to go see what it was.

  It was a long hike around the lake. He was ready to leave except for his empty stomach. Joey reached down and picked up a clump of large leaves sitting a rock. He unrolled the stiffened leaves and uncovered what was left of his fish from the night before. The fish was cold and stiff. It didn’t look appetizing, but there were two or three bites left. The thought of eating it made him gag. After the first nibble he ate it hungrily. His stomach was growling for more when he set out.

  It wasn’t a difficult hike. He wound his way between the pines and through clumps of undergrowth. He kept the lake in sight on his left at all times.

  The sun was high in the sky when he finally reached the opposite shore. He had taken a break when he came upon some wild currant bushes with ripe clusters of fruit. He picked and ate currents until he was sick of them. His hands and shirt were stained with red juice.

  Now that he was over here he couldn’t tell exactly where along the shore he had seen the light the night before. Across the lake he could see the rocky meadow with the hill behind it. He could just make out where he was camped. The light had been here somewhere.

  The forest floor was thick and springy with pine needles. Pine cones lay strewn about. He made a sport of kicking them as high and far as he could. There were fallen trees, some fresh with bark and branches still intact; others old and rotting. Joey kicked off chunks of rotting wood with the toe of his tennis shoe.

  It was so quiet that he wished for sound, any sound other than wind. He longed for the irritating, impromptu knock-knock jokes that Glory and Story always made up.

  “Knock knock?”


  “Who’s there?”

  “Pokey.”

  “Pokey who?”

  “Pokey Porcupine!”

  Joey could hear Story’s intense little laugh at the end of this. Joey smiled at the memory.

  He stopped and looked around. Pine trees, logs, pine needles, the lake seen through the trees—there was nothing more; no sign of anything that would have made that light.

  A breeze hushed through the pine boughs above him. Joey stopped to listen. He felt no air movement and looked up to see if the pine boughs were moving. They weren’t. It sounded like the trees were sighing. Joey wondered how he could stand the days of loneliness to come.

  Another breeze moved. Joey saw this one. It touched the surface of the lake out in the middle travelling toward him. Shimmering ripples appeared in the water. The pine boughs sighed again as the breeze reached them. This time the breeze reached through the trees and touched Joey. It was fresh with the expected hint of pine. Joey smelled something else, something familiar, but not of this world. It was . . . lilacs.

  The smell of home brought a lump to Joey’s throat. The breeze passed as quickly as it came. Joey longed for more. Out on the lake the breeze touched the surface once again and skipped toward shore. This time the breeze would come ashore ahead of him. Joey ran through the forest like a deer. He dodged trees and jumped logs. More than anything he wanted to smell the lilacs again. The breeze had passed by the time he arrived. The lake was smooth as glass.

  Joey fell to his knees and leaned forward on his hands to catch his breath. Once more the lump rose in his throat, this time for lack of the scent of home. He dug his fingers into the thick layer of pine needles on the forest floor. He put his forehead against his hands.

  “Oh, please, I want to go home,” he prayed.

  He lifted his head and froze. He was staring into the eyes of the little, wild-haired doll Glory had given him. The doll was sitting on the ground leaning against a fallen log about twenty-five feet away. She was sitting in the same position Joey had sat her at the bottom of the weeping willow. Her thin, white dress stood out against the browns and greens of the forest.

  Joey stared for a full minute. He was afraid to move, afraid to blink, for fear the doll would disappear like the light in the night, like the smell of home. When his back began to ache he stood and walked over to the doll. It didn’t disappear. Joey carefully picked it up. He felt the hard plastic body in his hands. He looked into the unblinking blue eyes.

  “No,” Joey said, speaking to the doll, “Your hair couldn’t look nicer today.” He put her to his nose and smelled. Amid the plastic and fake hair there was Glory.

  Joey pulled the doll close to his chest and snuggled her. He sat down on the log and smoothed the doll’s hair with his stained fingers. How had she gotten here? The light had something to do with it, he was sure. Joey sat where he was as the sun moved across the tops of the pines. This is where he saw the light. This is where he smelled home. This is where he found the doll. If there was any hope for him in this world, he figured it would be right here. He wasn’t going to move until he found that hope. His bottom was beginning to ache, but he remained resolute. The sun passed overhead and started angling toward the hill on the other side of the lake. Still he stayed.

  Joey’s thoughts drifted through time and space to his home and his past. Memories came in fragments. A chilly, autumn day in Idaho; sitting on the sidewalk with Glory helping her get her pants free from between the chain and sprocket of her bike. Sitting in his sixth grade class and seeing his Dad at the door. He brought Joey’s clarinet for after-school band practice. Story lying next to him in bed and sobbing the night after Mr. Johanaby died. The look in Mrs. Johanaby’s eyes when she realized she had forgotten him in the pond.

  The trees sighed once more bringing Joey back to the present. The high, clear note of the crystal chime floated in the sigh like a dandelion seed in a breeze. Joey stiffened and then closed his eyes concentrating on that beautiful sound. As the chime died away he heard a voice that seemed to float among the pine boughs with the breeze.

  “You have an entire world to explore and you just sit there, Joey Johanaby?” The melodic voice was framed with a Tennessee accent.

  “Henrietta?” Joey asked softly, holding back tears of relief and hope.

  “How can you be so sad in such a beautiful place?” Her voice hushed from the trees on his right to the trees on his left as she spoke.

  “But there’s nobody here,” Joey said.

  “Yes, why is that?” Henrietta asked. “Why would you create such a beautiful, yet lonely world?”

  Joey remembered Beezer telling him the map had been created from the dreams and desires of his heart. He thought of the day he had run away from his family. He’d had enough of his family. He wanted to be left alone. Joey started to understand how this world was created.

  “It is beautiful,” Joey said, opening his eyes. Sunlight glistened on the water. Graceful pine boughs reached out to him on every side. “It’s just that I can’t leave. I lost the map.”

  “Oh, that could change a person’s perspective,” Henrietta said. “Where is it you want to go?”

  “Home,” Joey said. “I want to go home.”

  “You’ve had such wonderful adventures and you just want to go home?” Her voice came from the direction of the lake now, as if she were walking along the shore while talking to him.

  It was true. His adventures with the map had been wonderful. He thought of Captain Call and Tahee. They had inspired him to be courageous. He missed them. It wasn’t danger that was the adventure, but helping them in their troubles. He didn’t have anyone in this world to help. It occurred to him this world was rather meaningless. Home wasn’t meaningless. He thought of Mrs. Johanaby, struggling and alone. He thought of the twins, how they really did need him. There were no pirates or giant eagles, but there was adventure just the same.

  “Yes, Joey said. “I really, really want to go home

  “Then why are you staying here?” The question came from right beside him in a voice more solid. Joey looked. She was sitting next to him. Even in the daylight her blue eyes glowed softly. The soft folds of her expansive dress were cool where they enveloped his legs. Her smile radiated warmth like the sun.

  “It is so good to see you,” Joey said, restraining himself from hugging her.

  “I feel the same pleasure,” she beamed. They sat smiling at each other for a moment, taking pleasure in each other’s company. Eventually Henrietta went on.

  “Joey, you have done well.”

  “I have, haven’t I.” Joey said, feeling the warmth of pride.

  “You are brave, and what’s more important, you are full of love! Do you still doubt it?”

  Joey looked down at the doll in his lap. “No,” he said. “I don’t doubt it anymore, but I’m not sure I understand. Is love greater than courage?”

  “Love is the living soul of courage. There is no courage without love. You didn’t jump in the pond to save Glory because you were brave . . .”

  “I jumped in because I love her,” Joey finished.

  Henrietta pulled an imaginary rope. A bright sounding bell rang once. “Yes,” Henrietta said. “I think you have arrived. Love grows courage.”

  They sat for a minute looking at the lake together and listening to the breeze. Suddenly a hawk flew into view. Joey thought it might be the same hawk he saw yesterday soaring so high. This time it swooped down to the water and snatched a fish from just under the surface.

  Thrilled by the sight Joey said, “I caught a fish yesterday.”

  “Yes, Beezer told me,” Henrietta said, nodding her approval.

  “Beezer was watching,” Joey said.

  “Oh, yes. Beezer takes his responsibilities very seriously.”

  Joey pictured Beezer in his room watching the bubbles. He thought of the hole he had dug with Story just outside of Beezer’s room and the treasure they had found. All those golden chocolate coins—he suddenl
y wanted to stack them with Story. He wanted to argue with Glory. He wanted to hug his mother.

  “Can you take me home now?” Joey asked.

  “No,” Henrietta answered.

  Her answer was soft, but it sounded like thunder in his ears. “What?” Joey said.

  “There is only one way to go home. I believe Beezer explained it to you.”

  Henrietta grew more reserved suddenly. Joey was confused. He had assumed that Henrietta had come to take him home.

  “But, I lost the map,” Joey said, a feeling of desperation beginning to rise.

  “If that is true you may be here a long time,” Henrietta said, laughing as if she had just made a joke.

  Joey shot her a hurt glance which she saw.

  “Forgive me, Joey,” she said. “I sometimes put things badly when I was alive, and I still haven’t learned. Let me restate that. By lost you mean you don’t know where the map is?”

  “It’s in the lake,” Joey said weakly. “I watched it sink.”

  “Oh, then it’s not really lost,” she said. “Lost treasure is lost only if no one knows where it is.”

  “But how will I get it?” Joey asked.

  “It seems to me that your adventure isn’t over in this world. Just remember, Joey, you are brave. Don’t forget why you are brave.” Then, without any goodbyes she was gone.

  Joey sat with his mouth hanging open. He felt betrayed. Feelings of anger followed. Henrietta had appeared as if in answer to his prayer. She left and nothing had changed.

  “Why’d she even come,” he thought, fighting tears of anger. “What was that all about?” he yelled. “What am I supposed to do now? ‘You are brave,’ she said. So what? Am I supposed bravely live here alone all the rest of my life?”