Story for Creative Writing

Daddy’s Little Soldier Boy
Sarah Healey

He looked into the mirror as he washed his hands. He hoped that no one else would notice the round little lines underneath his sharp blue eyes. He touched them just to be sure that they were really there. He was always checking himself for little reasons to be skeptical. He gave his face one more scrutinizing stare, then hurried back into the classroom. The teacher smiled at him as he took his seat next to Robert. He was her favorite student of all 144 in her combined 6th grade math classes: always attentive, always interested, always organized.
Jerry looked down at his math book; he listened to Mrs. Harp describe adding and subtracting fractions. This was easy stuff. Math was a bond that he and his father shared, and father had been teaching son the ways of math since before he could read. Jerry's eyes began to close as he settled into his seat and let Mrs. Harp's deep voice melt over him; his head hung, but he kept his ears alert to keep from falling asleep. Yet, it was so tempting. Before he knew it, Jerry had dozed off—sitting up, neck suspending his drooping head above the book.
The next thing he knew, the bell was ringing in the classroom and his peers were packing their things to move on to third period. Quickly, he jumped to his feet, dumped his book and binder into his worn blue backpack and scurried out behind Robert. Robert turned to Jerry.
"So what are you doing tonight? My mom said I can have a sleepover, with you and Tom."
"Oh, it's Friday night. You know that means movie night with my Mom and Liz and Cody. Sorry. Maybe another time," Jerry apologized. He felt badly that he couldn't join his friends for a night of video games and sugar highs. Before, he had been the king of sleepovers; rarely had he slept at home during the weekends.
"It's fine," Jerry said. "Have fun with your family!" He was confused by Jerry's excuse. Jerry was always the first one at a party and the last one to leave. Jerry loved people, but lately this Friday movie night had been keeping Jerry home.
They walked in silence, and parted ways as Jerry headed to art and Robert to P.E. As Jerry walked into Miss Stearn's art room, he took his seat at the back table, a place he had chosen for it's privacy. All of the other art students were eager to be near the board where they could see Miss Stearn's models for projects. Jerry, on the other hand, was happy to squint from the back if it meant a moment alone with himself and his art supplies. Today they were working on geometric designs drawn to fit the 11 by 17 paper and shading them in with colored pencils. It was a relaxing project and while Jerry shaded in the squares and diamonds he had drawn, he went over his daily check list in his head: packed lunches, got the kids on the bus, laid the bills out for Mom, locked the door. He never worried that he would forget anything; it was a system, list everything that had to be done before locking the door, everything in chronological order. He would go through a different checklist before bed to prepare himself for the morning, when it would start all over again.
Miss Stearn strolled over to Jerry's table and peered at his paper, covered in a red, blue and light gray pattern.
"Are you coloring a specific pattern?" she asked her pupil who hadn't even noticed her arrival.
"Huh? Oh, it's supposed to look like the American flag," he said and smiled, while he looked with her at the pale gray diamonds meant to be stars and the blue squares surrounding them.
"That's wonderful, Jerry. I'm sure it will look great."
Miss Stearn had noticed a pattern in Jerry's work. He was a talented artist, not great, but involved and serious about his projects. But they all seemed to center around red, white and blue, the American flag. She could understand a child's patriotism, but this 11-year-old's allegiance was bordering on infatuation.
"Why do you always use red, white and blue? Are you interested in the military?" She asked out of curiosity.
"My dad's in Iraq," he said in a dull voice without looking up. She had never heard this tone of voice, anything but enthusiasm out of Jerry was an uncomfortable surprise.
"I didn't know that. I bet you miss him," she wasn't sure how to respond.
"Yeah, I do," again dull.
"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Miss Stearn felt she owed this to one of her most beloved students.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks for the offer," he looked up and smiled sadly. In the light she could see blue bags under his eyes. The exuberance that usually lit him had dulled and given way to a dreary faced child with a blue pencil in his hand.
Miss Stearn smiled down at the child, touched his back lightly and kept moving around to the other students.
Jerry watched Miss Stearn walk away. He never knew what to do in those situations. He hated talking about the army, his father's year away, the responsibility it meant for him. Yet in his projects he felt a need to connect with his father millions of miles away.
At the end of the period, Jerry packed up his pencils and put them in his cubby on the side of the room. As he passed Miss Stearn he smiled at her--not wanting her to believe that he disliked her over their prior conversation. She smiled back, somewhat reassured.
After school, Jerry chatted candidly with Robert and Tom on the bus. When his stop arrived, he wished them a fun sleepover, and stopped at the mailbox to get the mail. He walked up the driveway skimming the addresses and return addresses. On the counter in the kitchen, he made stacks with the mail: bills, magazines and personal letters. He threw the advertisements in the trash; Mom didn't need to deal with those. He checked the voicemail to find that there were no messages. Then he went back outside to walk the three blocks to the elementary school where Cody and Liz were in after school care.
"Hello Jerry, let me grab your brother and sister for you," the coordinator said. She walked into the classroom from which she had to come, and came out flanked by his 7-year-old twin siblings.
"Hey Jerry! Can we get a movie tonight?" Cody was jumping up and down.
"And eat popcorn?" Liz chimed in.
"Of course we can," Jerry said. He wanted his siblings to feel safe and content under his watch. So they took a left out the parking lot, instead of a right, to make their weekly pilgrimage to the movie store down the street. The bell jingled on the door as they walked in, and the twins ran full speed ahead to the children’s movies section.
"Can we get Wall-E?" Liz asked.
"No, we've seen that one a million times," Jerry said. "Why don't you choose a new one?"
"How about Finding Nemo?" Cody wanted to know.
"We've seen that a million times too. What about Star Wars?"
"Noooooo! So boring!" Liz exclaimed to Jerry's dismay. Before going to Iraq, Jerry and his father had been watching the series together.
"Ice Age?" Cody asked.
"Sure, we haven't seen that one in awhile," Cody took the movie and led the trio to the counter where Maria was waiting.
"This is a good one!" She said as Jerry handed her the movie and a five-dollar bill. Maria had formed a bond with Jerry and his father when they came in once a week. Now it was just Jerry and the kids, and she felt compelled to care for them in their father's absence. "Now everyone pick one!" She told them. They knew the signal and each picked a bag of candy. Maria never charged them, and Jerry always looked forward to seeing her momentarily on Fridays, and feeling the warmth of kindness.
The siblings walked back to the house while Liz practiced her skipping and Cody told Jerry about his day at school. Jerry nodded and smiled, and complimented Liz. This was always the part that hurt worst; he was proud of his siblings, but there was no one to ask about his day.
When they entered the house Jerry saw his mother’s keys on the counter and felt only semi-relieved. At least she was home, but there was no guessing how the night might go. With luck she would make some dinner before “going to bed.” Otherwise he would make them macaroni and cheese for the fourth time this week and they would eat in front of the T.V. At least his father had taught him something about cooking.
“Look Mom’s home!” Liz’s excited cry rang out as she ran into the living room to find their mother typing on the computer. Jerry’s heart sunk; he recognized her expression; it was exhaustion mixed with an unquenchable thirst, yet her eyes lit up at the sight of her daughter.
“Lizzy!” Their mother’s voice leapt into action, she caught the girl as she jumped into her mother’s lap and hugged her. Then she was abruptly pushed back to the floor. In a single moment Jerry watched his mother change like she had changed many times before.
“Come on guys let get some dinner started,” Jerry called to his siblings to keep them from noticing the blankness that had befallen their mother who turned her attention back to the computer and away from her children.
Jerry put water on to boil, and opened a box of macaroni and cheese.
“Cody! T.V. Trays and milk! Liz! Forks and napkins! You know the drill! 1, 2, 3, 4!” He tried to make his voice boom, just like the soldiers he saw in the videos—the ones his father told him about. The one his father was. Maybe he was giving orders this same instant. The kids jumped with his orders and hurried about at their individual tasks.
“Just like Daddy does!” Cody said as he marched back to Jerry and saluted. They enjoyed their game of dinner warriors, finally setting a delectable meal for themselves in front of the movie. Jerry started the DVD player and kept the remote nearby as he settled himself in front of his T.V. on the couch.
“Could you keep it down over there?” His mother’s irritated voice floated over the sounds of the movie. She glared at Jerry. He didn’t say anything, just turned the T.V. down a bit, hoping the kids hadn’t heard the disgust in her voice. A few minutes later, she rose from the computer and rummaged around in the kitchen. Jerry could hear her opening a paper bag. She walked through the living room.
“I’m going to bed,” she said out loud. There was no ceremony to it. Jerry nodded, but she didn’t notice. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven, even the twins weren’t ready for bed yet—and they were too engrossed in the movie to notice their mother’s departure.
Jerry turned back to the movie, but he couldn’t concentrate on the animal antics that sent his brother and sister into peals of laughter. Instead, he thought about the days when his mother didn’t go to bed at dinnertime, toting a bottle of alcohol behind her. He could see her laughing and pushing the twins on the swings in the backyard while he and his dad played catch. He remembered the time she made breakfast for dinner complete with pancakes and scrambled eggs. He remembered when he didn’t feel guilty leaving the house to play with his friends. He remembered the times before his father left, before he went to a place that was impossibly far. He remembered the time before the darkness.
When the movie was over, Jerry put two resisting 7-year-olds to bed. He told them a bedtime story and reminded them not to wake their mother when they got up in the morning. Then he left them to sleep. As hard as it was to see his mother in her sad and debilitated state, he hurt more in the hours when he was completely alone. It was 8:30, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. If he were at Robert’s house they’d just be returning home from laser tagging or bowling and would be settling into a long round of video games, maybe Guitar Hero or Madden 2005. He wished the world would set itself right for him, he wished someone would find him, his neglecting mother and bring his father home. His father could set everything right again. But it would be at least another six months, and Jerry understood the reality that his arrival at home could be postponed; that his life might continue like this through the summer, through another Christmas. He understood that he could tell someone, alert a teacher or a friend’s parent to his problem, but he didn’t know what that would mean. He didn’t know what would happen, so he kept quiet.
Jerry decided to go to bed; he had nothing else to do and his nodding off in math class told him he needed the extra sleep. As he lay in bed he went through his nightly checklist: kids in bed, lights off, door locked, house alarm on.

Friday Fill Ins

1. "In a hole in the ground there lived __a little bunny___."

2. "_My parents greatly dislike the man____ but that ain't no matter."

3. "After dark the rain began to fall again, _and I sit back and enjoy the beauty in the pain____."

4. "__A pirate emerges___ from the hold of the Spanish galleon."

5. "There was a hand in the darkness, and _I took it. Hopefully it will save me.____."

6. "Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, _that's why I'm always on guard____."

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to _going to bed right now____, tomorrow my plans include _a full day of Girls and Women in Science, then some homework and maybe a nap before a hopefully fabulous invite only party at Phi Si____ and Sunday, I want to _do laundry and tons of homework and go to my dance TA session____!

An Evening Moment

We should have taken a picture; it was one of those perfectly happy moments that you see in movies. The kind you wish you could have every moment of every day, but if you did, you wouldn't appreciate the tiny seconds that make them up. The three of us girls, in our pajamas, music blaring from the speakers and cookies in the oven. My sister, juggling our father's juggling bean bags and laughing as she tried again and again to get the basic move down. My mother was dancing around the room, having no sensation for the beat, except that she liked it. She was doing the triplet step I taught her from my dance class, and she kept losing the beat of the motion. I trailed behind, bouncing quick-quick-slow as I watched the whole scene and held my breasts ridiculously in my hands, which made all three of us howl with laughter.

For a few minutes no one was picking on another, and I wasn't nervous about being at home, living with their judgements. Everything was comfortable and perfect and easy. I tried to forget that I would be leaving tomorrow; this only makes me cry. I tried to paint the whole picture in my mind for when I would return to school and find myself jaded by college life. I tried to understand how these moments happen, how to create them and capture them. I tried to understand why I can't live like that all the time. Why not every moment can be golden brown like those cookies we were periodically pulling from the oven.

A Little Bit of Homesickness

It's those days when I wake up thinking I'm in my own bed. At home. Those days when I think I hear my family moving around in the kitchen, and open my eyes to go greet them. But they aren't here. It's those days when everything seems so cheery on the computer screen, that I wish I could join them. But it isn't as safe as it seems, I'm growing up and away and different. I know I wouldn't want to be there, and I also know that I'd give everything to patter into the kitchen to sit bleary eyed at the bar while my parents discuss the day. To make breakfast for my family before they all head off to work and school. But I know those memories are just the good ones I've gleaned from amongst dull moments, and sad ones. Painful ones and mediocre and mundane ones. Yet it is a childhood, an 18 year life that is there. And today is one of those days. Today is a day I woke up to the echoes of their voices in my head, only to realize that I don't belong there anymore.

Friday Fill Ins

1. I'd really like _to go to Kenyon____ right now....or home.

2. _Fuck!____ is the word you'd most often hear me say if I stubbed my toe.

3. Possession is _having something? that seems more of a definition than a deep thought____.

4. _I heart____ Captain Jack Sparrow...need I say more?

5. Marshmallows and fire go together like _marshmallows and hot chocolate. I just had some!____.

6. _Calculus goes____ on and on...and I HATE IT!!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to _watching The Bachelor then going to Phi Si for some drinking____, tomorrow my plans include _driving prospies to the bus stop (aka I get to drive!!!) and reading lots and lots____ and Sunday, I want to _to do my homework in front of the Super Bowl. Oh and not get eaten by the fam when I tell them I'm jetting off to Kenyon again____!

Journalling the Nightmares Away

The past two mornings I have awakened in near tears due to horrible nightmares. The first was that I was being kidnapped and was unable to speak, and the second was that my mother had died. Both of these are absolutely terrifying-yet possible-ideas, thus I am rather discouraged about going to bed tonight. But I was told by both my therapist and my boss-a soon to be child psychologist-that before bed I should journal in hopes of clearing my mind before sleep.

So that brings me to...well what does that bring me to? I rarely write such journally pieces when I have nothing to say. And today, I have nothing to say. With the exceptions of my crazy dreams, it has been an average week. Lots of work, some hardship here and there (dealing with sending my computer into apple and waiting for it to come back) and missing Ted. But nothing out of the ordinary, which is why I am so perplexed by these dreams. I'm not even stressed about my family this week! (And that is a big change!)

Today I set up the wireless internet that Ted bought me for Chanukah-actually, I didn't, the guy on the phone did. And I had three classes: Creative Writing, Jazz Dance and Claude Levi-Strauss at 100. All classes that I enjoy, though that anthro class was rather painful as we didn't do anything! The prof has an affinity for taking long tangents at high speeds which only lead him to more tangents at an even faster speed and the stupid girl sitting across from me had a dull look on her face while she asked ridiculous questions, made seemingly obvious statements, splayed her legs and chomped-open mouthed-on her gum. Really? REALLY? We are how old again?

Now I am rather exhausted and would like to get to bed so that I can get up at 8am to start reading my next history book. Ted is on the phone and had been since around 9pm. We talked, did homework, watched (he's still watching) TV shows on our respective computers. Its like spending time together, apart. Maybe I will read a bit before nodding off, as a way to lead myself into sleep without laying there waiting for sleep to come. (A new phenomenon since coming to Beloit. It used to happen at home, but never here.)

I guess that is it for this pathetic journalling attempt. Let it bring me many happy dreams. Or none at all. Or at least nothing that leaves me terrified and crying.

Friday Fill Ins

1. I must __travel Europe___ before I die.

2. You can't stop _loving your one true love____.

3. I wish I never had to buy _probiotics and rephresh____ again. Damn infection!

4. _Ted____ has helped me change my life. Whatever would I do without him?

5. I know the song _Disneyland by Five for Fighting____ by heart. Wonderfully melancholy!

6. If I weren't so afraid, I would _tell everyone I meet (my family included) how much I love Ted____.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to _shopping as long as my aunt returns from dinner soon____, tomorrow my plans include _a 5 mile race (hopefully I won't die) and lounging on the beach____ and Sunday, I want to _keep enjoying my beach bum entertainment (reading, tanning, sleeping)____!