Echoes of Newtown. Blake Fite

      Leaping Past the Hardwood

      Dear Ma and Pa,

      I surely know an orphan when I see one, but sometimes I forget I am one. I dream sometimes that I’m walking through the pouring rain when I come upon a house and walk up to the window. Inside I see a warm fire and above it hovers a black iron pot. Inside is a stew made from the most perfect lamb. How wonderful it must be to partake. On a slab of hot stone, a dough forms into crusty bread over the open flame.

      I shift my gaze to the right of the fire and see a giant oak table. It must be fifteen feet long. It’s dressed for royalty with intricately carved wooden bowls and metal goblets brimming with cherry wine. The center of the table overflows with fresh greens dressed with olive oil and twelve kinds of vegetables. Just then, an aroma of cinnamon, oats and sugar traps my attention, and my eyes follow it to a steaming peach cobbler.

      A massive and loving presence sits at the head of the table. He is at once every kind of person, every tribe, every color, every language—all in one striking stature. He must be at least six foot, seven inches. Joy overflows from his delight in the scene and his desire to share it with those who would join him.

      But, outside, I shiver. My empty stomach aches for food, but even more, my soul aches for the courage to join the table. I wonder if, soon, I might find it.

      Your son,

      Billy

      The Last Watch of the Night

      I’ve done this before. I’ll do it again, Billy thought as he planned his final escape past Uncle John. This is it!

      The hardwood floor posed the biggest problem for Billy. It always creaked right in front of Uncle John’s room. Like most great plans, this one would come to Billy as he stared up at the boards above his bed. How many nights have I dreamed right here from this bed. Billy thought about the evenings his Uncle didn’t take him fishing. He remembered the friends who were embarrassed to be seen with the drunk man’s boy. More painful memories flooded as he lay in his bed for the last time. His brow furrowed. You think you can trust a person … The only person you can trust is yourself.

      The nuns at Rascal’s dormitory used to say the time between midnight and the last watch (right before sun-up) is when the saints should pray. The boys set this time to meet at the railroad entrance in Staunton, but before Billy could sneak out, he heard pebbles knocking up against the house.

      Billy ran as gracefully and silently as he’d ever run. “Stop!” Billy whispered as loudly as he could without disrupting his Uncle. “You’re crazy. I’m coming!” The time had come for Billy to face off against the creakiest stairwell in the whole Shenandoah Valley. As his feet neared Uncle John’s quarters, a network of creaking sounds grew. They sang like a hungry street band.

      This floor is louder than that ol’ cannon ball lodged into St. Paul’s Church in Norfolk, Billy thought.

      “Zat you, boy?” Billy heard from Uncle John’s bed.

      “It’s me, Uncle John. It’s just me.” Billy said in a manner not to further rouse his uncle.

      Distracted, Billy stepped right smack on the worst board in the house. SCREEACK! Just then, three stray dogs barked.

      “Get outta here, you dumb dogs,” Rascal whispered desperately from outside the house.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, Billy thought.

      Uncle John sat straight up in bed and felt around for his gun. Gun in hand, he wobbled toward the sound of the dogs. Billy, choosing speed over stealth, ran out of the house and off the porch.

      Two of the dogs fought each other viciously while the third, a regal looking animal, sat nobly by, unbothered.

      BAM! … BAM! … BAM!

      Three shots rang out from the porch and the boys ran into the darkness. The barking suddenly ceased. In his stupor, Uncle John missed the seated dog and instead fired a wild shot that sent a piece of shrapnel right through Rascal’s earlobe.

      Both boys heard the zing of the shrapnel as it passed by Rascal’s head.

      “He nearly shot us!” Billy said, still running.

      “I think he did.” Rascal answered. “My ear feels hot.”

      When they came to a small clearing, Billy examined Rascal.

      “Well, he sure did get you. Some sped right through your ear, Ras! You’ve been shot!” Billy said, laughing uncontrollably.

      “Well, that’s a fine time to laugh at your friend,” Rascal said, clutching his earlobe.

      “Here,” Billy said. He reached in his pocket for a metal ring he’d found behind the general store a few months back and slid it through the hole in Rascal’s ear.

      “What are you doing?” Rascal said, starting to pull away.

      “It’s a sign, Rascal!” Billy said. “You trekked through the dark woods. You fought off wild dogs. Heck! You’ve already been shot, and we haven’t even left Ladd yet. Face it, Rascal. You ain’t scared of nothing anymore. We did it! That’s a cause for celebration, I say.”

      Rascal’s body settled and he got quite as he thought about Billy’s words. “You’re right, Billy. I ain’t scared of nothin—”

      “Sshhh!!” Billy interrupted. “What’s that sound? Someone’s behind us. Did you hear that?”

      “Stop it, Billy,” Rascal said, thinking Billy had conned him into thinking Billy was proud of him.

      “No, I’m serious!” Billy said with a hint of fear in his voice.

      A glow in the distance caught their eyes, and a sinister feeling fell over them. Silently, they stared in its direction and detected a human-like shape whose orange glow emitted from the eyes. The figure was as tall as a tree even at one hundred yards off. As they watched, the figure split into two separate forms with the second one being much shorter—only about five feet tall.

      “You still got that knife, Rascal?” Billy said, keeping his eyes locked on the orange-eyed creature.

      “Yeah, I—Wait! It’s gone!” Rascal said. “I must have lost it back with the dogs. Darn it all, it’s gone!”

      At once, another figure emerged, seemingly from nothing. Wings stretched out several yards from either side. In all of its grandeur, it leapt in front of the orange-eyed creature, rendering it motionless. With the speed of a hawk, the winged creature swept up the orange-eyed creature and its spawn and disappeared into the night.

      The boys stood motionless and silent.

      “Was that an angel?” Rascal said.

      Still shocked but wanting to set Rascal at ease, Billy roused, “We’d better stick together.”

      The deep darkness of the sky on this night made each step more treacherous than the usually moonlit terrain.

      “How are we going to find our way like this? There’s no moor!” Billy grumbled, angry he’d brought his friend on a fool’s mission.