Wednesday, August 19, 2009


Gerald liked airplanes and fishing on the bank under that old tree.
The long silver flashlight with the blue switch was his partner in the dark to collect worms.
He liked the squishy feeling of the mud between his toes after the rain.
Stories about Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn were in his waking dreams.
He was most like Tom sawyer, he thought.
His house is what he came to trust.
For Gerald, silence was not golden, it was irreverent.
It was the sound of the house holding its breath.
Sometimes quietness would just pass by peacefully, like a lone car on a Sunday drive.
But, when the noise would lie still for a minute too long, it was a signal to be aware.
Always, followed by the scurrying heals of his guardian women folk.
Any sign of happiness had to be shut away.
Gerald was the "Man" of this house.
His father would spit that burden on him as a punishment.
Whenever the old man took to running off, he'd raise the hell from the very fears inside Gerald.
Gerald would bite his lip, with more courage than his six year old mind could account for.
He would bring love and safety to his home in spite of that old man.
Gerald met his death by the hands of his father just after his ninth birthday.
But, he still lives in that house.
He brings love and safety to its foundation.
And, all those that spread the sound of laughter through its walls.


Dorothy said...

*gasp* this story leaves me wordless. It is high on the emotion meter. I loved it, and left haunted.

Love ya

Thomma Lyn said...

Amie, what an amazing and shattering story. So much wisdom, so much sadness. My heart goes out to little Gerald, and oh, how I admire his strength!

Paula said...

Wow! That is really good!
Your talents are increasing by leaps and bounds!