“I’m sorry, boy. She’s dead.”
The doctor covered her with a plain white sheet, and Jared covered his eyes with his hand.
It can’t be, he thought.
After speaking a few parting words with the doctor, Jared stared helplessly at the person on the grey couch who used to be Great Aunt Rita.
He swiftly pulled the sheet off of her and looked at her delicate, aged face. Her grey hair fell on her shoulders with a purposeful look. Her clothes were clean and well-fitting, even though she was one of the poorest women in town. He could have almost convinced himself that she was taking another nap.
Jared stared out the small window in the common room. Rita had loved the view. She could see the neighbor children playing, the mailman delivering, and the police patrolling- all at once. Today, Jared saw none of these things. He saw a group of men in worker’s clothes walking up to the doorstep. Jared stood up, wiped off his knees, and took out his stash of money from the shoes he was wearing. $500. These were good men, men that Rita trusted, and they said that they would provide Rita with a grave. Jared thanked them as they took her, and most of his money, away.
He laughed, with hints of insanity. Everything was gone. He had $50 to his name, and the house would soon be sold to help pay for Rita’s outstanding bills. Even Rita, the woman who had helped his family in the worst of times and who treated Jared with the best care that she could give, was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jared was nine, and Emma was seven. As usual, that playdate included a game of tag, eating some homemade chocolate chip cookies, and chasing around the Portier’s chickens in the backyard. Emma lived in the biggest house on the street, on the corner. Jared lived in the smallest house on the street, on the opposite end of the street.
That day, Jared and Emma decided to play a board game in Jared’s room. There were twelve different animals to choose from, and whichever one chosen would be the player’s main piece throughout the game. After choosing the duck for her piece, Emma looked at Jared’s room. There was a plain bed, a simple wooden desk, and a closet filled with some of his parents’ old clothes. Emma never could understand why Jared’s room was so bare. This board game was the only toy that he had. His parents refused to get him any others.
She decided to ask Jared why there were no toys.
Jared suddenly looked serious. He had the look that Emma had seen on his parents’ faces when they were talking quietly.
“My parents are afraid that if the police come here, they’ll take me away. If they see a normal room, they won’t know I exist.”
He spoke with such anguish; Emma knew she should never ask a question like that again. She didn’t like seeing Jared sad or scared.
He saw her fear, and with it, he turned and hugged her with all of his might. “I’ll always keep you safe, no matter what happens,” Jared whispered in her ear.
Emma relaxed. Jared never broke a promise. He would keep her away from the Rebels and the bombs and especially the Police.
As if He was trying to play a cruel joke, a sudden noise was heard outside of the Portier’s modest home.
Jared and Emma turned to one another, trying to validate if they had heard the same blood-curdling call that the other had heard.
Open up. Police.
Mrs. Portier frantically ran up the stairs into Jared’s room.
“Under the bed,” she whispered. “Now! Be silent!”
The two children climbed into a secret chamber beneath the floor, hidden by Jared’s bed. Mrs. Portier moved the bed over the floorboards. She closed the bedroom door behind her and joined her husband at the front door.
Jared was prepared for this. He held Emma close, never once letting her go. She was quiet, which was the most he could have asked for. She couldn’t help that she was shaking from head to toe. He couldn’t help that he was shaking, either.
The police entered the humble home. Mr. Portier meekly asked why they were there.
“SILENCE,” the main officer commanded. “We have the power of the United States
One of the younger officers checked Jared’s room. He threw open the closet. Filled with only adult clothes, he assumed the room to be a guest bedroom and, after a quick glance about, shut the door.
Jared and Emma, slightly relieved, let out a bit of pent-up breath.
“Nothing upstairs, officer. No spy gear that I can see. No French propaganda in the least,” the young officer reported.
The main police officer gauged the response of the Portiers after hearing this news. Their faces never changed.
“We will be back. When the United States
The police left and, when they were sure it was safe, Mr. Portier helped lift the bed up so Emma and Jared could climb out of the small hole in the ground.
Emma saw a certain look flash before the Portiers’ faces. A look that said, it’s time.
“Jared,” Mr. Portier said solemnly, “it’s time to say goodbye to Emma. Why don’t you walk her home?”
“That’s a very good idea, dearest.” Mrs. Portier gathered some of her paints in a small bag while speaking. “We’ll be leaving on a- a vacation! So you will not see each other for a little while. Say goodbye, and come straight home, Jared.”
Jared understood what she meant. “Yes, Mother.”
Jared walked with Emma, his arm around her shoulder, to the end of the street. He tried to comfort her, but he couldn’t help her. She had just experienced something too frightful for a seven year old to handle.
The two frightened children reached the gate that opened up to Emma’s front yard.
“Emma,” he said. “I’m so sorry that you had to be there for what happened today. I will never put you through that again. My parents and I are going away for a little while, but we will be back. I will be back. And when we come back, it’ll be as if I never left.”
Emma smiled. He will be back, she thought. She kissed him on the cheek, a kiss between two childhood friends. After a meaningful hug between the two of them, Jared walked away. It took all of his strength not to look back.
Emma waited for him. Everyday she asked, “Papa? Any word from the Portiers? When will they be home?”
Her father would reply, “I’m sorry, child. No word. I’m sure they’ll be home soon.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jared grabbed his belongings, a few rumpled shirts, two pairs of jeans, a guitar, a letter, and a picture of him with his parents from the days at the old house.
Before he knew where he was going or what he was doing, he was there. On that doorstep. He must have been running for miles, for hours. But there he was, looking for the key hidden under the mailbox that opened the front gate.
He unlocked the gate and walked up the well-kept stone path that led to the Victorian-style house. There was the wrap around porch and the comfy bench swing. He remembered it all from his childhood. Everything looked the same, but so much had changed.
He rung the doorbell, and a large woman opened the door questioningly.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “What do you want there, boy?”
He smiled softly. “A conversation, Madame. A conversation with Mr. Rigozzi.”
She shut the door firmly, running about the house to find Mr. Rigozzi.
Finally, Jared mused. A bit of good luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment