by David Lubar
When I got to school on Monday, everyone had already seen the news in the paper. There were lots of questions, and lots sympathy. I handled things okay until Julia came up to me.
"You all right?" she asked.
I thought I was just going to say, Yeah, I'm fine. But something else shot out. "No, I'm not all right." I hadn't slept in two days. The whole thing kept looping through my mind, echoing like a nightmare. I'd punched my bedroom wall hard enough to knock a hole in it. My fist still throbbed. "Is this what your god does?" I asked. "Hurts people for no reason?"
Julia backed off a step. "God does everything for a reason. But we don't always know the reason."
"Well, there was no reason for this. If you think there is, you're crazy." I walked away. She was wrong. Life was random. Good things happened. Bad things happened. I couldn't believe I'd tried to talk to God.
That evening, I picked up The Gospel of Saint John and wrote in red pen on the first page, Good start, but no follow through. You fail to convince the reader. I added a grade — seventy two — then tossed the booklet aside.
Life got hectic. While Mom healed, I handled the housework. I couldn't believe how much stuff there was to do. Over the next couple weeks, I felt like I was watching myself from a distance.
I was sorry I'd gotten angry with Julia, but I didn't want to hear any more about God, so I avoided her. Once again, she didn't avoid me.
"How's your Mom?" she asked me one morning as I headed out for first period.
"She's getting the cast off on Monday," I said.
"That's great."
"Hey. About that day. Those things I said..."
Julia gripped my shoulder. "I forgave you the moment you spoke," she said.
Bad choice of words. I backed away from her as a wave of fury swelled through my body with such strength that I lost the power to breathe.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
I forced air into my lungs. "I wish you wouldn't act so damn perfect. Don't you ever get angry? Don't you ever hate? Don't you ever just feel freaking miserable?"
Julia flinched. "Every single day," she said. "I'm human. There was only one perfect man. And they crucified him." She put her hand over her heart. "I'm just like you inside. Probably nowhere near as strong. I'm weak. I have daily battles with hate and envy and pride."
She dropped her eyes for a moment, then looked back at me with an embarrassed smile. "Lust, too."
That caught my attention. But she quickly stepped away from the subject. "Sure, life is tough. But it's easier when you have something to believe in."
"I don't get it," I said. My body sagged against the emptiness inside of me. Why couldn't I have faith? What kind of God would create people who weren't capable of believing in him? It seemed like the cruelest joke in the universe. "I just don't understand."
"Then come to church with me," Julia said.
"How can I go when I don't believe?"
"Faith comes from hearing the word of God. Give it a chance. Open yourself to the word. Sunday morning. Ten thirty."
"No thanks." I rushed off, knowing that anything else I said wouldn't do either of us much good.
That afternoon, Mr. Sterns reminded us our projects were due on Monday. I'd fallen behind schedule when Mom got hurt. But I figured I'd be okay. The first eight stories were all set. I only needed two more. It was Friday. I could write both stories by Saturday night, then polish them on Sunday. No problem.
I got started right after school. Nothing came at first. But I didn't worry. I knew I'd get an idea sooner or later. I'd have bet my life on it. I typed a couple sentences, then deleted them. Tried another opening. Killed that one, too.
Friday evening came and went. Saturday morning, after having breakfast with Mom, I returned to my room. Two stories. Due Monday.
Nothing.
I waited.
Still nothing.
I took a walk around the block. That often helped kick my mind into high gear. I came back, out of breath from the fast pace.
Nothing.
Lunch.
More time staring at the monitor. Nothing.
Dinner.
Back to the computer.
Something.
An idea, fully formed. A gift from the creative regions of my skull. I loved when that happened. Usually, I just got an idea for a scene, a character, or a chunk of the plot. Sometimes I started with nothing more than a line of dialogue. Not this time. The whole story rose into my mind — plot, characters, setting — blooming in one glorious piece. It was all I could do to type fast enough to keep up with the images flooding my head.
Wow.
It's the greatest feeling in the world. I'd created a whole story, a miniature universe, from nothing. And I saw that it was good.
One down.
My brain was fried. I decided to get some sleep. I'd write the other story Sunday morning. It would come. I knew that beyond any doubt. I slept deeply but woke early.
One to go. I let my mind wander, trying to pluck an idea from the stream. Time passed. I thought about going out for another walk.
The phone rang. I ignored it.
"Telephone," Mom called from downstairs.
Damn. Any interruption could kill the flow. I picked it up in my room. "Hello?"
"Hi. It's me. Julia. I wanted to see if you felt like coming to church."
"I can't," I told her, relieved to have a ready-made excuse. "I have to finish my project."
"Oh..." There was a pause. Then she said, "How's it going?"
"Not bad. I wrote a story last night. One more and I'm done." I felt a bit of the barrier between us dissolve as I talked. I'd built the wall. It was my job to remove it.
"You're amazing. You've got a true gift."
"Not really." It didn't seem special to me. I wrote stories. Big deal. I had a hard time understanding people who claimed they weren't creative. It was like hearing someone say he didn't know how to breathe.
"Where do you get all those ideas?" Julia asked.
"They just come. I don't try to examine it." That was as good an answer as I could give. The ideas always came. Sometimes, like last night, I had to wait a while. But, sooner or later, I knew I'd get an idea. I couldn't explain how it worked, but I was sure it always would. The words were there when I needed them. The words never failed to come.
My word....
The random pieces of the universe came together. If I hadn't been sitting, I might have fallen to my knees. As it was, I let the hand holding the phone drop to my lap. It took me a moment to notice that Julia was still talking. I raised the phone back to my ear.
".... guess I'll see you Monday, then."
"Yeah. Bye." I put the receiver down. "Faith," I whispered, giving voice to my revelation.
I couldn't see or touch the source of my ideas. But I believed in it. It had no name, and no face, but I knew it was an endless fountain. I had faith. Rock solid faith. Not religious faith. But faith in something unseen. Faith in something mysterious and magical. Something wonderful.
All these years, I had true faith, and never saw it for that. It was so simple. I'd been a believer all my life.
I put my fingers back on the keyboard. One more story. Piece of cake. My eyes drifted to my clock. Ten fifteen. I could just make it. I rushed down the stairs, said bye to Mom, then hurried out.
I ran into Julia outside the church. She grinned when she saw me. "I'm so glad you came. You finished your last story already?"
"No. I'll do that this afternoon."
"You sure?" she asked.
"Absolutely."
"Great. Come on." Julia grabbed my hand. We ran up the steps and into the church. Once inside, she let go. I guess church wasn't the place for hand holding. But the warmth of her touch lingered.
On the way down the aisle, I stopped for a moment as another sensation hit me. I couldn't help laughing as I realized what I was feeling.
"What's so funny?" Julia asked.
"I'll tell you later." I reached up to
scratch my nose, then let my hand fall. I was in no hurry to get rid of this itch. Maybe it was a sign. Or maybe it was just my hormones kicking into high gear from the touch of her hand.
We sat and waited for the service to begin. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I was open to anything and eager to discover where this new plot twist would lead me.
Habitat for Humanity
(This story requires a brief explanation. It was written for an anthology that contained pairs of stories inspired by original drawings. The drawing for my story showed an old woman standing outside a cabin, arguing with a bear.)
The damn creature was back, raising a ruckus. Just when I was finally getting to sleep. I could hear her right outside the window, roaring away. And I could hear Grandma roaring back as she rose from her own half slumber.
"Leave her be," I told Grandma. "She'll scurry away soon enough." I was glad there was a wall between us. Bears and people were a dangerous mix — especially this time of year, when food and sunlight grew scarce and the cold wind blew from the north.
But Grandma wasn't content to leave anything be. Not when she could make a fuss. "Shameless beggars," she said as she stomped toward the door. "Someone should chase them off for good."
"They've always lived around here. Same as the rabbits and the mice. Or the raccoons." I turned my back toward her and squeezed my eyes shut. "The only difference is they're bigger, and they eat more."
"They eat, all right. That's all they do. Eat and sleep."
"That sounds pretty good to me. Especially the sleep part."
"And they're dangerous," she said, ignoring my hint. "Unpredictable. No telling what they'll try."
"They're harmless as long as you leave them alone. You go out there, you'll just stir things up. If you'd be patient —" I flinched as icy fingers of air slipped through the open door. By then, she'd gone out. So I stopped talking. Not that it mattered. The results were always the same once Grandma had her mind made up, whether she could hear me or not. She did what she wanted.
As much as I hated the way they disturbed us, I knew it wasn't all their fault. They'd been chased farther and farther up the mountain. We'd taken their habitat. It might not have been right, but we'd done it. Not us, really. Our ancestors had taken their land. Maybe blame gets diluted a little with each generation. In another ten generations, the blame and the evidence might both by gone, and we'd scare our youngsters with tales of vanished creatures that once haunted the woods. We'd stagger and lurch in imitation of their clumsy motions, and shout our own version of the beastly cries that issued from their throats.
I had to admit, there were times when I'd sit outside and watch them off in the distance. I could do that for hours on a warm spring day. But it was late fall. After the harvest. I felt sleepy and heavy. Grandma had put on weight, too. I was glad. I always worried about her when the sky took on the gray tones of fall and the nights got so long they threatened to grow together, forming an endless blanket of darkness.
Well, old age might have slowed her down, but it didn't make her any less ornery. She was by the window now, too, shouting away. Probably face to face. Tired as I was, I couldn't help smiling. For all her growling, Grandma was a softie. She might chase our visitor off, but she'd give her something to eat, too.
I'd never let myself get that close to one of them. There was something in their eyes that spooked me. Sadness. But a light, too. Like they could think. They were smarter than the rabbits or the mice. That was for sure. But I didn't want to dwell on how smart they might be. I'd hate to feel they really understood what we'd taken from them. It was better to just believe that they were dumb beasts.
As much as I wanted to drift back to sleep, I knew there was no point trying until Grandma was finished. The growls and shouts seemed to go on forever. Two stubborn old females. But then the sounds softened. Murmurs, whispers, snuffles. Finally, I heard Grandma lumber back in and close the door.
"She go?" I asked.
"She went."
"You give her something?"
"You know that only encourages them."
"I know. So, you give her something?"
"Why would I? Shameless beggars."
"What'd you give her?"
"Couple berries."
Already, I was halfway back to sleep. But I lifted my head briefly and glanced out toward the rise. I could just see her disappearing among the trees, hunched over as if she clutched something to her belly. Her dress rippled as she wove her way deeper into the woods. Her thin white legs seemed so fragile, so unsuited to life in the hills. Wispy gray hair peeked from the scarf on her head. I couldn't imagine what life would be like without fur. How cold they must get. Poor creatures.
"Sleep well," Grandma said as she dropped back on all fours and curled up next to me.
"See you in the spring," I said. As I fell asleep, warm and fat, I wondered whether the people in the hills would make it through the winter. I hoped so. They might have been noisy pests and shameless beggars, but I guess this was their home, too.
Pulling up Stakes
Uncle Ian gave me two presents before I left for America. One was A Guide to American Slang.
"This will help you fit right in," he said. He opened the book and pointed to a phrase he'd underlined.
"See you later, alligator," I said, speaking the unfamiliar words carefully. I turned to another page. "Don't take any wooden nickels."
"Very good, Adrian. You will make many American friends."
The other present he gave me was a warm coat. "Does the weather get cold in Arkansas?" I asked. I'd studied America and learned it had a north and a south. In the south, the land was warm.
"The weather can get cold anywhere," he said.
When I thanked him for the coat, he wouldn't look at my eyes. I thought it was because he was going to miss me. Later, I wasn't so sure.
I had plenty of time to study the book. My parents and I traveled from Brasov to Bucharest by train. And then we sailed by boat to America. I found the perfect phrase for this in my book — we were pulling up stakes. We'd sold everything we owned. Which wasn't much. That was the reason we were coming to America. It was a land of opportunity. Uncle Ian had taken care of all the arrangements, getting us our tickets and even finding my father a job. My father had been in business with Uncle Ian, but something had gone wrong. My father had lost most of his money.
That's the way the cookie crumbles. English is not hard. I already spoke Romanian, German, and Hungarian. We learn Latin in school. Between Latin and German, I recognized many English words.
Once we were in America, I discovered our journey wasn't finished. We flew on a big plane. And then on a smaller plane. And then on a very small plane with loud propellers. It was dark when we landed. And it was cold. As soon as we got our luggage, I put on my coat.
Then I checked my watch. This should have been the middle of the morning. But perhaps I didn't quite understand the time zones.
"America is very dark," my mother said as we sat in our new apartment and watched the bright stars through the window.
"And very cold," my father said.
The next day, when I went to my new school, it was still dark.
The nice woman in the school office smiled at me. "Welcome to Alaska, Adrian."
"Is Alaska in Arkansas?" I asked her.
She shook her head. "Alaska is a state." She showed me a map on the wall behind her, then tapped a spot. "Here we are."
America is very big. I saw that Alaska was far to the north of the rest of the country. And we were far to the north of the rest of Alaska.
"Let me get someone to take you to your class," she said.
I was excited to learn what my classmates would look like. They were all different. Some were very white. Some were very dark. Some had fancy clothing. Some had simple clothing. Many of their shirts had words on them, or pictures of rock groups.
In my old school, I wore a uniform. Today, I wore a white shirt. Tomorrow, maybe I will wear
a shirt with words on it.
The students looked up when I walked in. But two boys in the back kept talking to each other. One had a shirt that said, "Lord of the Rings." The other had a shirt with a picture of the man in the black helmet from Star Wars.
As I looked around the room, I caught my breath. There was a girl, also sitting in the back, but not near the two boys. Her hair was long and dark. Her face was beautiful, even though she wore makeup that made her eyes scary. She had a black shirt with the word "Lestat" on it. I didn't know that word. Maybe it was French. She glanced up when I walked in, but then turned back to the book she was reading.
My teacher said, "Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself, Adrian."
I felt nervous to speak in my new English. So I didn't say very much. "I am from Brasov, in Romania."
They all waited for me to say more.
"Brasov is past the forest," I said. "We call this area Transylvania."
The girl looked up from her book when I said that.
The two boys in the back stopped talking and stared at me, as if I had said something important. Then one whispered to the other. The other nodded and whispered back. I think they were making fun of me. "I'm done," I said to my teacher.
She let me sit down.
###
"How was your new school?" my mother asked when I got home.
"It was good," I told her.
"Did you make any friends?"
"Not yet."
"You will."
My father came home from the new job Uncle Ian had arranged for him. "It is still dark," he said. "And there is some confusion. The people at the factory do not know Ian. All day, they send me from one person to another. Nobody knows about this job. I think Ian made another big mistake."
"I think we are not in Arkansas," my mother said.
I explained that we were in Alaska. "It will be dark for many days. But then, it will be light for many days. It all works out."
"I will kill your Uncle Ian some day," my father said.
###
The next morning in school, one of the boys from the back row walked up to me in the hallway and said, "I have a present for you." He held his hand behind his back. His shirt had a picture of a space ship.
