I have recently spent some time over at Ducky's blog site and read some wonderful short stories to which I would like to alert you.  I just finished reading "Sounds Like Angels Singing" and "A Mother's Love" which I found to be exceptional pieces of imagination. You may want to check them out.

After reading those works, I have been inspired to publish a couple of my own short stories on here.  The following is the first of them.

Just Yesterday

By Jim Hetrick

 

Sunshine peeked a few shy rays over the sill of his bedroom window. She peered in from the lower corner of the dirt-streaked pane and found him sprawled out under the covers, feigning sleep. Silently sliding over the sill, she warmed his room with a golden smile that pleased him so much that he smiled to himself, betraying the fact that he was awake.

She's thinking about me now, he thought as he watched the light advance across the floor toward his bed. She is loving me now.

He rolled over on his back with his eyes still closed. She is remembering now what happened to me. She knows that I will go back to the world on Monday, and I will have to confront all of those jeering faces. She is feeling sorry for me.

At that moment, he did not care that Monday morning would be awkward. Monday was a full weekend away. Right now, all that existed was himself, his room and the Sun. And the Sun understood and cared and loved and never judged.

***

By mid-morning he was picking his way peacefully down the dirt pathway to the Pond. He had been back for two days, but this was his first trip to the Pond. His father did not think that it was wise for him to go down there too frequently.

He used to visit the Pond often when he was younger. Entire afternoons floated by while he talked to the waters and listened carefully to the rippling conversations of the waves.

In autumn, the leaves that surrounded the Pond would put on their color show of dazzling reds and oranges just for him. In spring and summer, they would be a serene, cooling green.

He had thought it ironic that the men who took him away met him at this wonderful and peaceful place. He was amazed that they did not see the beauty of the trees or hear the language of the water or feel the touch of the Sun on their shoulders. Everything was so beautiful, so serene at this place that he would have been perfectly happy to die right there. He would have succeeded too, if it hadn’t have been for the men. He never should have left the note.

But that was a long time ago.

Now, as he moved along the path to the Pond, he wondered if it had changed at all in his absence. A smile flickered across his face as he remembered the grassy field that was as soft as a down pillow, and the water that tickled his toes and talked to him when nobody else could be bothered with him. He wondered if anything was different.

As he walked, he felt the Sun on his shoulder. She is loving me now. She is looking out for me. She wants to be with me. He looked up and found her directly overhead, beaming down on him. He beamed back.

Dirt, dust and bits of last year’s foliage clung to his bare feet as he walked. In front of him was a path of patchwork light.

The trees bowed their branches in the breeze to welcome him home. He loved the trees. They understood that humans needed comfort and care, and that humans were of no greater or lesser importance to the universe than were any of the other creatures. The trees knew that everything needed a home. Being the true friends that they were, they provided themselves as shelter.

The birds also welcomed him back. Invisible forest folk chirped their greetings to him as he passed. A few were bold enough to dart across the path a few yards in front of him to let him know that he had been missed.

He allowed himself to feel all of the love that surrounded him. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting back a lump in his throat as he walked along.

Then something horrible happened. All at once, an unseen rock erupted on the pathway. His big toe struck it in mid-stride and bent back. The toenail split jaggedly and pain burst upon him like a bucket of thrown paint. Thick, purple blood pooled under the nail and oozed out along the edges, turning a deep, cherry red when it hit the air.

The ground zoomed up and slapped him broadside as he clamped a stranglehold on his throbbing foot. His face twisted in anguish as he rocked back and forth, both hands clenching the wounded toe.

A piercing siren shattered the serenity of his thoughts while his injured body part pulsed with hot pain. Tears sprang to his eyes, welling up over his lower lids, running down his cheeks and leaping off of his chin. Raging madness filled his head as he swayed back and forth in the dirt.

Slowly, the blessed numbness set in and took away the pain.

Over the past few months, he had learned to honor numbness of all kinds - the natural kind that he was now experiencing as well as the kind that was dispensed through a hypodermic needle.

The siren blasts in his ears diminished. He could feel the trails of hot liquid that dribbled from his eyes and down his cheeks. He was crying, and it had been a long time since the last time that he cried. It felt good.

As he allowed himself to be soothed by his own gentle sobs, a white-hot memory suddenly jolted him. He scrambled to his feet as his hands flew over his face and swiped the tears away. One deep breath put an end to the wracking sobs. In an attempt to evaporate the film on his eyes, he rubbed them vigorously with his balled fists. As he did so, a familiar scene painted itself on the inside of his lids.

***

A rotund, balding man entered through a doorway and stopped a few feet away from a boy in the middle of a bare, cavernous room. The sunset came in from the western window and landed starkly on the man’s face.

"I just talked to Doctor Brainard, Tommy," the man stated sternly. "He called me at work. I rushed over as soon as I could."

Tommy lowered his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Why, Tommy?" the older man asked in exasperation.

Tommy didn’t move or make an attempt to speak.

"Damn it, Tommy," the man erupted, "I’m your father! Answer me!"

With his head still bent downward, the boy slowly unwrapped the gauze bandages that covered both of his wrists. When he finished the unraveling, he carefully lifted both arms so that his closed fists were only inches away from his father’s face.

The westerly light from the window seemed to grow in intensity as it landed on the boy’s wrists, exposing two jagged slashes that were held closed by taut, black stitches.

The older man gasped at the sight and took an involuntary step backwards. "My God!" he whispered hoarsely. Then, quickly regaining his composure, he lifted his gaze from the mutilated wrists and peered questioningly into his son’s face.

Tommy slowly brought his head up and met his father’s eyes. Tears blurred the boy’s pupils, and his face was red and puffy from crying, but he stared unblinkingly back at the older man.

The father’s eyes narrowed to a squint as he observed his son and said, "Tommy, you’re crying."

The boy nodded silently, without shifting his gaze.

The older man shook his head. "I want it stopped," he declared.

Tommy stood stock still, and new tears made their way over his eyelids.

Fury filled the other’s eyes, and he demanded, "Be a man, for God’s sake!"

Tommy shook his head, saying, "The doctor says it’s okay to cry. He says that it’s even good to cry sometimes. He says that it has nothing to do with being a . . ."

Tommy’s father exploded with, "I DON"T GIVE A GOOD CHRIST WHAT THE DAMNED DOCTOR SAYS! I’M YOUR FATHER!"

In a small, wavering voice, Tommy said, "If you’re my father, then love me."

"Oh, for Christ’s sake! I do love you!" was the brusque reply.

"Then get me out of here!" the boy whined.

The father’s expression melted into guarded compassion, and he replied softly, "I can’t do that, Tommy. Not right now."

The boy bowed his head.

"Listen, Tommy," the older man continued, "sometimes life is hard. Damn hard. But a man faces that and does what he has to do to get through. Right now, you’ve got to stay here and get well. Everybody needs help once in a while. There’s no shame in it."

Tommy shook his head. "But Dad..."

Tommy’s father waved his hand in the air indicating that he hadn’t finished speaking. Tommy obeyed and fell silent once again.

"They’re trying to help you here, son. Don’t fight them. Listen to them and let them work."

"You don’t understand..." Tommy interrupted.

"I understand perfectly. Look Tommy, a man has got to face up to his mistakes and shortcomings. You know you have a hard time fitting in with other people. Sometimes you even do things that some people would find...well. odd."

"That’s not true," Tommy whimpered defensively.

"Yes, son. It is. Face up to it."

"Face up to what?" Tommy asked, raising his voice slightly.

His father put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and said, "Don’t get yourself all worked up."

"Face up to what?" Tommy demanded again.

The other smiled a knowing smile and said, "Settle down, Tommy."

"Face up to what?" the boy screamed, and pushed his father’s hand off of his shoulder. "What are you trying to say? That I’m strange? That I’m nuts? Is that it?"
"Now Tommy, just quiet down," the older man pleaded, looking towards the open door.

 

"Why? Do I embarrass you?" Tommy stared at his father, who turned away at the accusation. "That’s it, isn’t it?" Tommy continued. "I embarrass you! That’s why I’m here! You want me to be something that I can’t be! Just because I don’t act the way that you think I should, you think I’m crazy!"

Tommy’s father had taken just about enough of this nonsense, and he retaliated with, "God damn it, Tommy! Do you think that sane people try to kill themselves?"
Tommy was struck dumb by that statement. Twice, he opened his mouth, but no words came forth. When he finally found his voice again, it was small and melancholy. "Is that what you think I did?" he shook his head sadly. "You don’t understand me. So you’re ashamed of me. You keep saying that other people think I’m strange. It’s not other people at all, is it? It’s you!" Tommy fell to his knees sobbing. " I wish to hell mom was still alive! I miss her so very, very much! She understood. She knew."

 

Tommy’s father stood silent for a long time, smitten by these words. The rage drained out of his face, and he walked up to his son and gently took the boy’s shoulders in his hands.

Tommy looked up at his father.

"You don’t know how hard I try to understand," the older man said with feeling that came all the way from his toes.

Tears were rolling down the boy’s again as he said, "Please Dad. Get me out of here!"

The other shook his head slowly, heaving a heavy sigh and saying, "In a little while maybe. I promise. In just a little while. Not just yet."

***
Rounding the final dusty bend of the trail, he caught the sight of the placid, blue-green water. Lily pads randomly pocked the crystalline smoothness. On the opposite shore, circling ripples created by a lone jumping fish ran out to obscurity.

The smile found its way back to his face as he crossed the green field that connected the woods to the Pond. He walked to the shore and eased himself down into the hairs of the fine, waving grass. His eyes carefully scanned the half-mile perimeter of the Pond, and the view brought to him his memories.

The Pond. Every tranquil childhood remembrance he had centered around the Pond: the picnic lunches he had shared with her fish, the long talks with her when nobody else had the time to listen to him, the countless times she had cooled his throbbing head with her massaging, watery fingers. The Pond had been one of his best friends.

Many times he would look deeply into her and marvel at her. There was life. Liquid life. The trees were history and home, but The Pond was life. She was so pure and peaceful and perfect on the surface, and beneath her skin, there was a new and utterly astounding, vibrant world. Thousands of beings and millions of thoughts swam through her waters.

Answers. Answers were there too. Answers to any question a person could ask, if only he had the courage to look.

Hundreds of undreamed dreams were strewn about the sediment on the bottom, only to be stirred up when someone dared to swim close enough to them. "Hello, sister," he whispered aloud. "It’s good to see you again." He took hold of a small, smooth pebble and gently tossed it into the water. "I thought of you a lot when I was away. I missed you."

An unexpected voice came up from behind, startling him as it said, "I missed you too, Tommy."

Shaken by this invasion, he whirled around in the direction of the intrusion, and there stood Jacqueline. She was the girl with whom he had spent a childhood. She was just as he remembered her with the exception of her hair; it now fell a full foot below her shoulders, but he still recognized her instantly. She was just as beautiful as ever in her a baggy denim shirt, ragged cut-off jeans and dusty sandals. Her soft, vibrant face shone almost as brightly as the Sun herself.

She walked up and plunked herself down in the grass next to him, cocked her head to one side and said, "I knew I’d find you here. I heard that you were home."

Instead of staring at her like he wanted to, he forced himself to look away, gazing silently and fixedly at the Pond instead.

Jacqueline lowered her eyes and began playing with a tuft of grass. "What was it like there?" she asked cautiously.

"Awful" he replied without altering his stare.

"Why?" She stopped playing and looked up at him.

His eyes turned to stone, and he concentrated on the Pond, saying nothing.

After a few moments of pregnant silence, she slowly inched her way closer to him and touched his shoulder. He turned and looked at her, studying her face. Concern and sympathy were painted on the lines of her forehead as well as on her lips and in her eyes.

She can't fool me, he thought. She's one of them.

"Tommy, is something wrong?"

 

He closed his eyes tightly and said, "You, of all people, shouldn’t have to ask that."

"It was a long time ago, Tommy," she said quietly. "Everybody makes mistakes."

He glared at her and said, "It happened yesterday. No matter how long ago it was, it always happened just yesterday."

Her eyes fell sorrowfully back to the grass, and she softly explained, "Your father told me to lead those men down here. I didn’t know what they were going to do."

"What the hell did you think they were going to do? Sell me raffle tickets? You brought them here. You’re one of them."

She winced and tried to let the arrows of his reply sail over her head. "I knew that you’d still be furious. I was afraid to follow you down here and face you today. I got half way here, and I almost lost my nerve. I came close to turning around once, but then I heard you crying, and I thought that something was the mat..."
"NO!" Rage instantly filled his face, and he screamed, "NO! I wasn’t crying! I’m a man!"
She looked at him with puzzlement and quietly asked, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He blinked at her, astonished by his own words, and then he swiftly jerked his eyes back to the Pond. Jacqueline stared at him for a moment and blushed with embarrassment for him. Shifting her weight uneasily from one side to the other, she attempted to change the topic of conversation.

"Do you remember all of the fun that we used to have here when we were kids, Tommy?"

Tommy nodded, and a glimmer of a smile came to him.

"Remember all the times we’d bring a picnic lunch and spend the entire day just lying here in the grass and talking?"

Wordlessly, he turned towards her.

She smiled at him and said, "You were my best friend in the whole world then, Tommy."

"That was a long time ago, Jacqueline," he said softly.

She shook her head playfully. "Uhn-uh," she replied. "It was just yesterday."

The smile continued to flirt with the corners of his mouth, and he turned his attention yet again to the Pond.

"Tommy," she said, her tone solemn as she reached out and touched his elbow, "Please believe me. I am truly sorry for what happened." A long silence ensued as she struggled with a sudden tightness in her throat. A tear trickled down her cheek as she continued. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. It’s just important to me that you know that I’m sorry. You’re father had convinced me that..." She shook her head slowly. "I wanted to come and visit you while you were in there, but I didn’t think that you wanted to see me. I wrote you hundreds of letters, but I was too embarrassed to mail them. I..."

"It’s okay, Jacqueline. I understand," he stated quietly.

There was a long silence.

"What’s the Pond saying now, Tommy?"

"What?"

"The Pond. You used to say that The Pond would talk to you. What’s it saying now?"

He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Lots of things."

"Tell me, please."

He shook his head slowly. "The Pond says different things to different people. You’ll have to listen for yourself."

She stared at him for a moment. Seeing that he was wrapping himself up in his own thoughts again, she sighed deeply. Then, pulling her eyes away from him, she looked up at the sky. The rain clouds that had been rolling in all day were growing thicker and darker now.

"What a miserable day it is," she muttered. "Looks like it’s going to pour any minute."

He looked up and saw the Sun smiling down on him.

Jacqueline got to her feet. "Maybe we should head back before we get caught in the rain," she said.

He lay back in the grass. "You go," he replied. "I think I’ll stay here for a while longer."

"But you’ll get wet," she protested

He shrugged and said, "I’ve been wet before. I don’t mind getting wet."

"But…"

"Really," he insisted. "I’ll be fine." He looked up and saw the concern in her face. "You needn’t worry. I’m okay." There was a silent moment when their eyes locked. Then he whispered, "But thank you."

She heard the distant thunder.

Reluctantly, Jacqueline turned and walked away, seeking shelter from the impending storm while Tommy closed his eyes, leaned back and felt the Sun’s caressing fingers warm his face.