A Collection of Stories

Our Boy?

"Christ, it's a child," Marcus said, unbuckling his seat belt.

"Oh, my god! I swear I didn't see him."

"We know, honey, we know."

"Is he alive?" I couldn't see her, but I imagine her tear-filled eyes and uncontrollable shaking despite the thick fur-lined coat she'd gotten at Christmas.

"Sweetheart, I need you to go back in the car, alright?"

"Is he breathing?" was the next frightened question. "Should I call a medic?"

"We already did, honey, go back in the car. Dammit, where's Marcus?!"

He was back in a minute, leaning over the boy with his trained eyes, completely ignoring me as his steady hands felt for a pulse.

"Holy shit, he's alive," he whispered, mostly to himself. With accurate speed, he pulled up the boy's eyelids, shining his little flashlight in each eye. He stripped himself of his jacket and scarf. "We gotta get him up," and once wrapped, we lifted him to the waiting car.

"Dad, I'll drive," he said, patting me on the shoulder.

"Good idea, 'cause I don't think Del is up for the task. Quick, quick, we gotta move." I guided my nineteen-year-old daughter to the back seat.

"You alright?"

"Will he live?" she said in a trembling voice, staring at the naked legs stretched out on the back seat.

"Not if we don't get him to the hospital in time," was her brother's unsympathetic response. "Now let's move!"

~

It was a miracle he survived. The doctors found no sign of injury to his person. My daughter never believed them; she distinctly remembered hitting the brakes when the boy appeared out of nowhere and the sound of flesh on metal when she'd knocked him. Marcus and I could vouch for her, too.

"There are absolutely no signs of physical injury on the boy," the doctor said in that cool way doctors have about them.

But there was something else. He couldn't speak.

We took him in, and it wasn't long before he showed he was a good kid. He helped Delarie with breakfast and chores. Took an interest in Marcus' medical studies and helped me at the restaurant. He did things with little effort, plenty of patience, and a tremendous amount of reserve.

There was some trouble in how best to deal with the new member of the family. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't tell us where he came from. Couldn't say who his parents were. Whenever we breached the topic, he would look blankly at us. His eyes wide with curiosity, then he would scribble on his little pad three simple words: "I don't know."

"He'll remember by and by," I said to Del one afternoon when we put the question to him.

The days went on and he became one of us. My friends wondered if I was crazy for taking in another kid since I had been thinking of retirement not too long ago. I ignored their negativity, eventually distancing myself from some when one guy said,

"Jack, this is crazy. Shannon isn't here anymore. Do you honestly think you can raise that kid on your own? Just dump him in foster-he'll be somebody else's problem."

That was the last time I spoke to Brett Harris.

My new boy developed the love for stargazing and watching the sunrises and sunsets. He would drag Del out of bed most mornings to sit on the roof to get the best view; evenings and nights he reserved for me when I got off from work. Marcus had some evenings with our boy when he was home and could spare an hour or two from his books. We loved our new boy, who had earned a sacred place in my heart.

"Do you think some people relive their lives?"

"What do you mean?" I said, handing him back the notepad with a note of surprise in my voice.

He smiled and scribbled something else.

"Honestly, I don't believe someone can return after they've died to 'start fresh'," I admitted. "But I was never one to believe something I've never seen. Call me old-fashioned if you like." He smiled up at me, his soft eyes twinkling with childish amusement. I wondered the reason for his question but dropped the matter when he pointed at a shooting star.

He went to school, made a few friends, became a teacher's favourite, was top of his classes, served as best man to at Marcus' wedding, graduated with top honors and majored in psychology. He made us proud. Not simply because he earned his PhD and ran a very successful practise becoming a world-renowned psychologist, but because he showed a kind, patient, and hardworking nature that awed everyone around him. But as we all should know: Bad things happen even to good people... more so to those we love.

Our boy disappeared without a trace. Newspaper headlines, billboards, radio and television networks broadcasted the news like flint on dry wood. For a year, they, co-workers, friends and even mutual acquaintances bombarded my family and me with questions, interrogations, condolences, pitying looks, and hundreds of voicemails. We wanted to be left alone.

Eventually the years flew by, and my kids started lives of their own and our boy became a fond, distant memory.

I was sitting on my front steps helping my granddaughter decorate a wreath for her mother when the rest of the family arrived in full swing. We chatted and laughed, ready to begin the holiday as Del's lovely roast reached our noses. The children rushed inside while I waited for Marcus. He arrived, and I embraced my daughter-in-law.

"Dad, we have another guest tonight," my son said, holding open the back door of the car. His wife quickly filled in the details that an old friend of hers had died and the two of them had taken in the child. The boy greeted me with a carefree look that made me stiff as parchment.

"Samuel, this is my dad."

I stared at him. And he returned my gaze with an innocently wise one. I couldn't control my shaking hands. The boy put his warm, small one in my own.

"I know you," I thought to myself.

He gave me a ghostly familiar smirk.

"Do you believe now?" he thought back to me, his eyes twinkling.