A Single Story

the only part

This is a story about a boy whose father died in a car crash and whose mother killed herself from grief. This is a story about a boy who lives with his alcoholic grandfather in a tiny house in the middle of the woods. This is a story about a boy who walks a long way to school every day, a story about a boy who is kind to everyone, a story about a boy who sits by himself at the table in the corner at lunch. His name is Sam.

Even before Sam had moved in with his grandfather the rumour had spread. Crookwitshire was a tiny village where everybody knew everybody and everybody knew everything about everyone, sometimes even before the person in question knew it themselves. So, you have to understand that rumours do spread quick as a wink. You also have to understand that it is a big deal when a new boy moves in. Unless someone has a baby, there are never any new people in Crookwitshire, not even children visiting their old parents. Because when children graduate middle school, they go to high school in a much bigger city and as soon as they put their foot on the train for the first time, they rarely come back.

Just to give you perspective of how small Crookwitshire actually is, it consists of one church, one tiny grocery shop, and a closed down restaurant and, of course, an elementary and a middle school. But since there's only one teacher, and since there aren't that many children, it's practically only one class. And that's it.

Despite it being one of those days when yesterdays rain still silently remains on the ground, reflecting the light of lampposts along the road, and despite the sky, with clouds yet so dark you'd contemplate whether they would ever let the sun shine through. Regardless of all that, Sam was joyfully singing in the kitchen. Swirling around, making coffee and breakfast for him and his grandfather. As he fetched the milk from the refrigerator he spun around in a pirouette, made a small jump and landed with knees bent and with his hand, in which he was holding the milk, reached out in the air. He was happy because this was going to be his first day of school in over two years. Oh, how he was longing for a friend. With a kiss on his grandpas' forehead he left home and began his long walk to school.

Every soul on the school yard went quiet when the new boy arrived. The rope stopped being jumped and the ball was no longer kicked. Even the youngest of kids stopped painting their rocks to carefully observe this unfamiliar face. It went dead quiet and it felt like time had stopped. As in hypnosis they stared at each other, the boy and the children of Crookwitshire. Luckily the bell rang soon, and everyone started moving towards the entrance.

"Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?" Miss Marlowe, the teacher, asked Sam with a smile. She thought it was just as exciting as everyone else that there was a new student in class, but she tried to hide it the best she could.

"I would love to, Miss!" Sam exclaimed while quickly standing up. "My name is Sam Colney and I live with my grandfather on the other side of the hill, but I am originally from Manchester!"

A whispering hum moved through the class. They knew very well where Sam came from and who he lived with. Old Mr. Colney, an alcoholic and appalling man, eats living animals and only leaves the house to go down to the river to... God knows what he does by the river...

"Quiet!" Miss Marlowe commanded in displeasure of the sudden disrespect the class had shown Sam. But only a second later she looked back at him with a bright smile. "We are incredibly delighted that you are here, Sam, you will be just fine."

But at lunch Sam was sat alone. He had asked a few children whether he could sit with them, but they had all just stared at him, almost in disgust, and he did not know why. He eventually found a table in the corner where he could sit down to eat his sandwiches. Little did he know that he was going to sit all alone at that table every lunch break for a very log time. He couldn't know, because as he pondered, he figured that perhaps tomorrow they would be more used to him and they would let him eat and play with them. And he kept believing that it would happen the next day, and when it didn't, he was certain it would happen the day after that.

When Sam got home, his granddad wasn't there. For a moment his mouth got dry and his stomach swirled before he recalled what the caregiver had told him. The river. He ran as fast as he could and as he got closer, he could see his grandfather's silhouette sitting by the water. He quietly wrapped the coat around the old man and walked him back home.

It's been 3 years and Sam just turned 14. He doesn't sing in the kitchen anymore. No more dancing and no more happy laughter. His grandpa had past away last spring. He was never an alcoholic, he had Alzheimer's. He hadn't been drunk when he had been seen wandering around, he had been lost. It was by the river he used to hang out with his friends when he was a boy, that's why he liked to go there. Sam's parents weren't dead at all! They work overseas and sometimes sent over some money for him. They will come and visit in a few weeks.

But Sam himself wasn't doing great. He became what everyone always said, an odd and obscure lone wolf. Someone but himself.