by Geof Johnson
He unfolded the paper and showed his mother-in-law the plans for the clubhouse. As he went into more detail, Rachel turned away from Jamie so that she could see, and let the boy’s momentum carry him for a few swings. Carl became more animated in his description of the future project and the two women grew excited, pointing to the paper and asking questions. Jamie was forgotten for the moment.
For a kid, swinging is almost like flying. On the upward arc, right at the point where forward momentum is nullified by gravity, they’re weightless, just for an instant. Then it’s back down in a rushing curve and up again on the backswing, to the other null point. Back and forth — weightless, the rush of gravity, weightless again. Jamie loved it. Strapped into the blue plastic seat, he grinned and squealed with glee. But without Rachel’s steady hand behind him, and unable to pump his legs yet, gravity threatened to stop the fun.
But if the adults had been paying attention, they would have noticed that Jamie continued to swing merrily away, even though no one was pushing.
* * *
The family celebrated Jamie second birthday in the backyard again, only this time without the drama.
“Rachel,” Darla asked, “when do you plan to get that boy’s hair cut? People are going to start mistaking him for a girl, with those long blonde curls.”
“I don’t think so,” Pete said. “He’s got Carl’s jaw.”
Carl had a man’s jaw. He had grown a beard for a short time, but shaved it after the guys at the police station started calling him G.I. Joe. He wasn’t tall, but with his short hair, broad shoulders, and blue-grey eyes, he could be downright intimidating when he got mad, especially when he thrust his G.I. Joe jaw out.
“Yes, but he’s got Rachel’s eyes,” Darla said. “Girls love blue eyes. He’s going to break a lot of hearts.”
“Rachel had blonde hair when she was little,” Evelyn said. “It didn’t get dark until she was in elementary school. She looked like a little angel.”
Rachel felt herself blush and tried to change the subject. “So….” She looked around the table and finally settled on her in-laws. “What have you two been up to lately?”
“I’ve been volunteering at the food bank,” Darla said.
“You? Volunteering?” Carl raised his eyebrows.
Darla laughed. “I know, that doesn’t sound like me, does it? But my friend talked me into it and I like it. They have trouble getting people to work there, but I don’t know why. It’s not bad at all.”
“What do you do there?” Evelyn asked.
“We distribute bags of food to poor people, mostly canned goods and stuff that people donate.”
“I bet it’s mostly Mexicans that come,” Pete said.
Not now, Pete, Rachel thought. Don’t be ugly on Jamie’s birthday.
“There are some, but there are a lot of poor white folks around here, more than you’d think. And they’re really grateful for the food. I think that’s why I like doing it.”
“When do you go?” Evelyn asked.
“The first Saturday of the month. Just in the morning.”
“That’s next week. Do you need more volunteers?”
“We need all the help we can get.”
“I’d like to come.”
Rachel looked at her mother in surprise.
“I’ll see you next Saturday,” Evelyn said.
* * *
A couple of days later, Rachel and Jamie held hands and walked barefoot across the backyard on a hot July afternoon. Jamie wore his bathing suit; Rachel had on shorts.
“Creek, Mommy,” Jamie said. “Going to the creek.” He pulled his mother along.
“Slow down Jamie. The creek isn’t going anywhere.”
“Hurry, Mommy. Go to the creek.” His vocabulary was growing fast.
“Okay, remember what Mommy said. No going in the water. It’s not for swimming.” Not that it was big enough or deep enough. It was only three or four feet across and just inches deep, except for a few pools here and there.
When they got to the end of the lawn, Jamie pulled with all his might. Rachel finally picked him up and carried him the last thirty yards.
“How about right here?” she said, setting him down by one of the pools where minnows and the occasional crayfish could be found. There was a large rock where they could squat and look into the creek without getting muddy.
Jamie went right to the edge of the water and pointed with one finger. “Fishies!” He laughed excitedly.
“That’s right. Those are little fishies. They’re called minnows.”
“Fishies!” He squatted and smacked the water with one hand, scattering the minnows.
“Be careful. If you’re still and quiet, they might come back.”
Jamie continued squatting on the rock, but didn’t splash. He held his hand over the water, inches above the surface.
“You’re going to scare them.”
But the fish returned. They swarmed by the dozens underneath his hand as if he were feeding them.
“Huh?” Rachel said. She reached toward the fish, but they scattered. She pulled her hand away, but Jamie kept his over the water and the fish returned. She reached again, but again they scattered. “How do you do that?”
Jamie took her hand gently, as if it might break, and held it over the surface, placing his hand next to hers. The fish returned. Rachel’s mouth opened in wonder. She looked at the fish and then at her amazing son. Then Jamie smacked the water with both hands, soaking Rachel’s shirt.
“You little bugger!” She splashed him back. Jamie smacked the water again, laughing. Rachel joined him. They thrashed until they were wet as drowned rats.
They returned to the house and Rachel’s mother met them at the back door with towels.
“I figured you might need these,” she said.
* * *
The following December, Carl and his father looked at the Christmas tree in Carl’s living room.
“Why do you still have the baby gates up in here?” his father asked.
“To keep Jamie away from the tree.”
“Is he still blowing out the lights?”
“Yes. He did it again the first time we plugged ’em in this year.”
“Did you ever figure out how he’s doing it?”
“No. I even got an electrician out here to check the wiring, but he couldn’t find anything wrong.”
“Is he slobbering on the wires?”
“Don’t think so. He’s past that age. Maybe a two-and-a-half year old can build up more static electricity than a grownup.”
“Either that or he’s magic.”
“Makes as much sense as anything else.”
* * *
Jamie’s taste in books was evolving as rapidly as his language skills, amazing for a boy not yet three, and Rachel struggled to keep up. She went to yard sales, traded books with friends, and went to the library, but it was never enough. Sometimes she took him to the book store.
Rachel loved the book store. She loved the smell of new books, books that she could curl up with on a rainy day, have an adventure, find a long lost friend, or meet the most amazing characters ever, all without leaving her bed.
Jamie loved book stores because they had children’s books.
The store they went to the most was on Main Street, just down from Mast General Store, and the instant they stepped through the door, Jamie bolted for the children’s section. One Saturday in May, as Rachel held the store’s door open for him, he ran ahead of her, but went to the wrong section.
“Jamie,” Rachel said. “Those books are for older kids. Your section is over here.” She pointed to her left.
He ignored her, and began running his fingers over the spines as if he were reading the titles.
“I don’t think you’re ready for those books yet.”
But Jamie stopped his finger on a book, pulled it out, and looked it over. “This one, Mommy.”
She took it from him and read the title. The Adventures of Wal
ter the Littlest Wizard, Book One.
“Honey, it says it’s for children five and up. You’re not old enough yet.”
“This one.” He stamped his little foot. “Buy this one. Please, Mommy.”
He looked at her so earnestly she couldn’t refuse. “All right,” she said. “We can keep it until you’re old enough.”
* * *
But that night, when it was time to read, he wanted the Walter the Wizard book.
“Okay, let’s give it a try,” she said.
He climbed onto her lap, and she began to read. Walter, she came to find out, was a little orphan boy, who inexplicably had magical powers and traveled around the countryside with a brave knight named Sir Brevis. Together they saved the kingdom from ruffians and dragons, but nobody ever got hurt. Sir Brevis would brandish his sword at bandits and Walter would make friends with the dragons, convincing them to do nice things, like using their flames to boil water for the townspeople. There was an evil wizard named Zar, but he was no match for the clever Walter, and there was Pansy, the Princess of Shining Castle, who Sir Brevis secretly loved. Or she loved him, depending on which of the 22 books in the series they were reading.
Jamie loved it. After they finished, Rachel could tell he was too excited to sleep, so she said, “Okay, bedtime.” She turned out the light. “Time for the Dream Fairy.” They had been through this routine many times. “She can’t come into your room until you close your eyes really tight.” She looked at him. “And keep them closed.”
* * *
Jamie knew this was true, because he had tried to catch the Dream Fairy in the act, but every time he popped his eyes open, she’d hide, quick as lightning. She was too fast to see, though he thought he caught a glimpse, once.
“Mommy, what does the Dream Fairy look like?”
“Oh, she’s beautiful. She’s got lovely red hair and emerald-green eyes and a face like an angel.”
“Does she love me?”
“Of course, everybody loves you, but she can’t come into your room and sprinkle dream dust on you until you close your eyes.” She kissed her boy. “Are you ready for her?”
“Yes.”
“Goodnight. I love you, Jamie.”
“Love you, Mommy.”
* * *
The following Saturday, Rachel bought book two of the Littlest Wizard series. Jamie had to have it read that night.
This time, Walter and Sir Brevis were on their way to Shining Castle to visit Princess Pansy. As they approached the bridge over the Blue River, Walter stopped to pick some flowers for the princess and Sir Brevis began to cross the bridge on his mighty horse, Courage. But before the knight was halfway across, the evil wizard Zar leapt from behind a bush and cast a spell on the bridge, causing it to collapse.
The knight and his horse were tossed into the river, and though the horse managed to swim to safety, the knight’s armor was too heavy, and he was about to drown. The clever Walter made a magic rope, tied it to the horse’s saddle and threw it to the knight. Sir Brevis was saved!
Jamie pointed to the picture of Sir Brevis. “That’s Daddy.”
Rachel scrutinized the picture carefully. “Yes, he kinda looks like Daddy. And Daddy’s big and strong.” She looked at Jamie. “So who am I?”
Jamie flipped a couple of pages and pointed to the princess.
“Oh, Princess Pansy,” she said. “Good choice. Who are you?” She already knew the answer. He pointed to Walter. “That’s perfect.” She kissed him on the head and said, “Okay, Walter, I mean, Jamie, it’s time for bed.”
She turned out the light and left his room. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
* * *
That night, Jamie dreamed he was the Littlest Wizard. The evil wizard was after him, only his robes weren’t black like in the book, they were purple. He was shooting bolts of energy at Jamie, and Jamie was trying to get away, only his legs wouldn’t quite move right, and the evil wizard was catching up and wanted to hurt him….
“Mommy!” Jamie screamed as he woke up. He spent the rest of the night in his parents’ bed, safely tucked between his mother and father.
Chapter 8
For Jamie’s third birthday, Carl built the next phase of the clubhouse to end all clubhouses. On the right side of the swing frame, he built a platform about five feet by five feet, eight feet off the ground. On the front of the platform, he built steps. On the right side, he attached a fire pole, and on the back, a yellow tubular slide. He also took down the baby swing and put up two regular swings.
Rachel complimented her husband on his work. “Carl, he’s going to be so popular with the neighborhood kids. They’re all going to want to play here.”
“I hope so,” Carl said. “He’s almost old enough to have friends over.”
“It won’t be long. You’ll see.”
* * *
As much as Jamie loved his improved playground, he also loved his birthday present from his Gramma: a tricycle.
The Sikes’s neighborhood didn’t have sidewalks, so Jamie’s cruising was limited to his driveway. Fortunately, it was flat and plenty big enough for him to pedal madly back and forth, back and forth, until he was so winded he would say, “My legs are out of breath.”
Jamie’s parents were worried about the traffic on their street, so he was never allowed to ride unless an adult was positioned at the end of the driveway. The speed limit was only 25 mph, but the local teenagers considered that to be a suggestion. They would often fly over the hill and zoom past the Sikes’s house at twice the speed limit, talking on their cell phones, oblivious to their surroundings.
One Saturday, not long after his birthday, Jamie pedaled furiously while Carl stood watch at the end of the driveway. Rachel stepped out of the front door with the phone in her hand.
“Carl, somebody from the station wants to talk to you.”
“Okay. You need to watch Jamie.” He walked toward his wife as she stepped off the front porch. He didn’t see the SUV that had just crested the hill, barreling down the street. “Jamie, wait for Mommy.” He momentarily took his eye off his son.
“Jamie!” Rachel screamed.
Jamie had made a quick turn on his tricycle and headed full tilt toward the street. He was at the edge of the driveway before Carl turned and tried to catch him, the SUV picking up speed. Carl sprinted as fast as he could, but there was no way he’d make it in time. Jamie was already in the street, directly in the path of the onrushing vehicle.
Rachel watched in horror. It was all happening so fast. She knew she was watching the certain death of her sweet little boy, about to be crushed by a speeding, three-ton SUV. The collision of the little three-wheeled machine and the enormous four wheeled monster was unavoidable. Carl was hopelessly behind, running with everything he had, his effort pitifully slow.
But when Jamie was near the center of the street and the car merely yards away, he raised one hand and waved it at the shiny black beast and it stopped dead in its tracks, as suddenly as if it had hit a brick wall.
Carl was on his boy in a flash. He snatched him off his tricycle, shifted him under his right arm, and grabbed the tricycle with his left hand. He ran back toward the house and handed his son to Rachel.
“Is he all right?” she asked.
“He’s fine, thank God. I’m going to check on the driver.”
Carl jogged back to the vehicle and saw that the front bumper was dented and the airbag had inflated. He pulled the driver’s door open and saw a teenage boy at the wheel, stunned.
“Are you okay?” Carl asked. The boy didn’t answer, and when Carl saw a cell phone on the floorboard, he picked it up. On it was a half-typed text message. Carl’s anger erupted. He dropped the phone on the pavement and crushed it with his heel.
The boy recovered slightly. “Hey, that’s my phone!”
Carl grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt and yanked him from the seat, then pushed him up against the car with his left hand, his right curled into a fist
, the boy’s feet dangling off the ground. Carl wanted to pound him, but managed to maintain control. His jaw was out, though, full G.I. Joe.
“You stupid little jerk,” Carl yelled. “That was my son you almost ran over. You oughta look where you’re going.”
The boy tried to speak, but Carl said, “Shut up. If I ever catch you speeding in my neighborhood again, I’m going to run you down in my truck, pull you out of your car, and beat the living snot out of you. Then I’m gonna take you downtown and throw your butt in jail, ’cause I’m a cop.” He pressed the boy harder against the car. “And that goes for your idiot friends, too. Tell ’em. If they speed on this street, they do so at their own peril.” Carl pressed his face close to the boy’s. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” the boy squeaked.
“Now, beat it.” Carl let him drop, turned away and walked back to his house.
But as much as he and Rachel talked about the incident, they never could figure out how the teenager stopped his car in time.
* * *
By the time kids are three years old, they’re starting to get Halloween, and Jamie was no exception. He knew that you got to dress up in a costume and get loads of free candy. What’s not to get?
And no costume would do for him except Walter the Littlest Wizard. His mother found a wizard costume at the party store, but it wasn’t quite right, so his grandmother sewed on little silver half-moons and stars and made it perfect. Jamie loved it so much, he had a fit to wear it right away.
“Not ’till Halloween,” Rachel said. “You’ll ruin it.”
So Jamie stepped up the intensity of his fit. All that got him was a visit to the time out corner. But Halloween night, he had the costume on, and he was the total Walter.
Evelyn knew that neither Carl nor Rachel wanted to miss Jamie’s first night of trick-or-treating, so Evelyn volunteered to stay home and give out candy — after taking about two hundred pictures of Jamie in his costume.
Evelyn enjoyed giving out candy. The kids who came to the door were adorable in their little costumes — there were plenty of ghosts, princesses, pirates, and superheroes — and the parents who accompanied them were friendly. There were even a few Walter costumes, but none as authentic as Jamie’s, thanks to Evelyn’s skilled needlework.
