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Array
(
[sid] => 23337
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Short story THE MAGIC WORD
[time] => 2003-09-17 01:25:00
[hometext] => To a child a promise is as real as life itself
[bodytext] => The magic word August felt fall with dryness to the wind and a crisper cool to the evening. First tips of the maple leaves were beginning to curl burnt orange in the indefinable stillness of summers end. Autumn held it’s breath for spring’s promise to be fulfilled with the year’s harvest. The clouds were shadowed with red and violet as dusk approached. Exhausted from chores, squabbles and play we rested behind the barn. Shelly, Tommy and I trusted our wishes for the coming holidays with each other. We tried to push aside the regrets and disappointments of last year with a child’s optimism. The odd optimism which makes a child feel responsible for the shortcomings of their parents. We dare not mention it to one another for we each felt fault in our own way for the disasters gifted us by our fathers drinking. He loved us this we knew. He could never hurt us the way he had. It must be us we were too loud, not bright enough or as attractive as he deserved. Our conformation of this was our love for him. We were so proud of him he was tall, strong, and could do just about anything. To see a smile light across his face as he gathered us in a group bear hug, set to flight a joy nothing could else approach. Mom would stand back beaming with pride awaiting her turn. Our wishes sputtered out but the sun left us a few minutes of play. Off we went running to our dad’s truck for a pretend ride to town for Christmas shopping. Scads of imaginary money exchanged hands as we argued about which wonderful gifts we would buy for Mom, Dad and each other. The last rays of sun streaked from the horizon through the windshield blinding us. We threw down the truck’s sun-visors in defense. That’s when we saw the magic word. Written on the backside of the visor in thick black marker “I promise I’ll be their” the other visor read “I promise I’ll be on time.” The word promise was underlined. Our hearts leapt. We knew those promises were meant for us. It was magic; we had a father we could trust. October brought witches, skeletons, ghost, and ghouls to the neighborhood tingling us with spooky excitement. Anxiously we waited for Halloween. The 30Th came and dad had no money for our costumes. We were Embarrassed to go to school with out costumes. Mom understanding let us play hooky. It wasn’t much fun. We missed our Halloween party at school .Our sullen faces hurt mother and to her defense she said Dad had drank up all the money. “You are lying,” we screamed. Mother cried all day. On Halloween dad was home early he gave us each five dollars, a fortune. “Kids this will start out your trick or treat out with a bang.” “By night’s end your bags will be bulging with candy.” “After your prowl we will have our own Halloween party here.” Dad left for town to buy our costumes a ghost, fairy, and superman for me. “Be Right back”, he promised. Father did not come back that night. The weekend passed. When dad finally returned he gathered us around the table and apologized. The bare kitchen light shone hard down on our family that night. Sorry had washed his promise slightly diluting its magic but our hopes held fast. Imperceptibly things were changing the binding of our family was loosening. It’s hard to understand why I didn’t see it perhaps, it was colored with a child’s love hanging on to what it might be loosing or maybe change is so subtly slow. I awoke that night thirsty from the dry air and went downstairs for a glass of water. The change became visibly real. Mother was sitting on the sofa. I’d never noticed but the sofa was Old and battered the cotton stuffing pushing out the seams. Mothers faced mirrored the way the couch looked as tears streamed down her face. I sipped my water in bed looking out the window. My father’s truck was gone. Thanksgiving, joy poured its cornucopia over us, goodies were everywhere. On every table Plates were filled with nuts, candies, pumpkin cookies. Dad had shopped for our feast early this year and a coming gift certificate from work insured extra bounty to come. Mom’s eyes were relaxed and smiling the tired strain that crinkled them was gone. The corners of her mouth were lifted with contentment. Dad was making a habit of being home on time with his famous group bear hug. Dad’s arms somehow encompassed us all squeezed all the air out of us while squeezing in more love than we thought we could hold. Mommy's face was a picture of pride and happiness. I knew she would never look happier. It seemed her smile would last forever. I was wrong, dad walked back out to his truck. He came back with a bag overflowing with colored paper and warned us to leave the sack be for a moment. His other arm held the biggest, prettiest package I had ever seen, covered in shiny transparent colored cellophane with the grandest waterfall of ribbons springing fourth. We followed Dad into to the living room. Mother perked up on the couch. Dad presented her gift saying, “For the prettiest most loving woman in the county from the luckiest in the world”. Oh yes, dad proved me wrong. The look on mom’s face now surpassed the one she wore a moment ago even though it was veiled in tears. Mother opened her package inside was a pumpkin with a turkey carved in the front filled with millions of flowers kinds. The kind I had only seen in picture books never in real life. You know our old sofa didn’t look so ragged today it looked homey and comfortable as if love had pushed it to its shape. We followed Daddy back to his mystery sack Jumping and giggling all the way. First he pulled out three round tipped pairs of scissors then paper of every color, glitter, crayons, glue, stencils and the most exciting book of holiday projects. Everything we could possibly need. Mom placed her flowers in a vase. She put a candle inside the pumpkin and set it on the table. The candle shined the turkey and danced it across the table all the while we worked. Mom or Dad’s hand guided us through every hard thing .One by one our heads nodded to the table unable to fend off the sandman’s mystery sand of sleep. I remember Dad having to pry my crayon from my hand. I held it tight not wanting the fun to slip away. Mom came in my room as Dad laid me down. She kissed me then turned to my Father and gave him a long grown up kiss. I felt she was kissing all of us tightening the binding that held our family together. Thanksgiving morning Mom had already been up for hours busy with preparations for the day. Grandma was coming. This morning mom said if we wanted breakfast we had to fend for ourselves. At the refrigerator I ran into Tommy squirting whip cream in his mouth. Every day that week at the refrigerator it was Tommy my sister or me with a whip cream can in their mouth. All the other cans were empty. While making Dad a special cappuccino for breakfast Mom found out. As soon as she yelled kids get in here we scattered to the winds. We ended up hiding behind the barn hands over our mouths holding in mischievous laugher that burst out every time we looked at one another. Mom informed dad he would have to drive to town to the only store open for whip cream. Hun, I was going to walk the kids in the woods to look at the autumn leaves and collect some to paste with today’s pictures in the family album. It will have to wait the woods will be here when you get back. I can’t go Pops. You can see how busy I am. Yea, Ok. Right back Dad said as he blew her a kiss. When Grandma arrived we were all forgiven with mom’s laugh and light swat on the behind. Mom sent us upstairs to dress in Sunday’s best. I supervised as we groomed ourselves perfectly making not one of us had a hair out of place. We set upright in a row on the couch like little soldiers. Boy, would dad be proud of us. Mom and Grandma set the table with our finest dishes Grandma said they were her Mother, Mother's dishes. All our mouths dropped open. I volunteered, “God Grandma they must be five hundred years old considering how old you are.” She scolded me saying, “don’t use the Lords name in vain and I am not that old.” The turkey was golden, there was tons of food. And six pies, six pies, all different! Twelve o’clock was only thirty minutes away when Mother queried, where is your father? It was family tradition we always ate at exactly twelve on the dot. Today was to perfect to worry, the store had to be busy it was the only one open on thanksgiving. One o’clock we still sat at attention, he’d burst through the door at any minute. In the grocery store Dad ran into his friend Jake, they went to the Round House for one drink. At one thirty mom cheerfully said lets eat Pops will be here any minute he won’t miss a thing. Were not going to start without him I replied. Mom Ok ‘ed me back. Two o’clock smiles were fading we were not sitting so tall. Three o’clock Grandma and mom pleaded, “please come and eat, your dad probably had a flat tire.’’ I could see Tommy and Shelly wanting to give in so spoke up, “No we are going to wait for Dad.” Shelly and Tommy’s head slumped together in sleep by four o’clock. I still sat like a soldier awaiting his commander. The atmosphere dull and dreary had waned appetites Grandma and Mother only picked at the food. I gave way to sleep at I don’t know when. Woke in the dark as dad stumbled in all of us kids were crumpled in a pile asleep on the couch as dad stumbled to bed. I fell back to sleep to the rhythm of my Mothers crying. The night left the table untouched. Father left for work early the next day. Four ghosts wandered the house that day none speaking a word. No one touched the table. Dad came home to an empty house that evening everyone stayed in their rooms. As if undeserving he touched nothing on the table. Saturday upon waking the table had been cleared by mother as if to hide everyone’s shame. The pies in the refrigerator we ate for desert every night that week. The pies seemed tasteless. The following day as dawn broke no one stirred in the house. I went to my father’s truck for reassurance. I flipped down the visor shiny dew drops sparkled the words, “I promise I’ll be there.” I wiped my hand across the visor wanting to touch that magic word. My hand smeared the word promise almost gone. Hurriedly I pulled down the other visor dew glistened the words I was afraid to touch it. I was surprised later that week when Tommy told me he and Shelly had been to the truck and the word promise on one visor was gone. I had not realized he thought about our magic word again after the day we found it. He added with a lift to his voice, “There’s still one promise left.” The days fell as quickly as the fall leaves counting Christmas closer. All three of us kids had earned parts in the Christmas play a triumph that brought sorely needed accolades and attention from our father. He promised to sit in the front row and clap the loudest. The night of the performance I searched the sea of faces in the audience for the treasure of his smile. He wasn’t there. I felt like a plundered ship sinking on an ocean of empty promises. That night I learned words are magic they have the power to lift a spirit, fill a hope or darken a child’s world. Mother cried all night, every thing seemed ugly, nothing was right. Dad what happened to the promise you gave to her? You know a family is a promise. I guess a broken family is another broken promise. The back pages of our photo album aren’t as full as the front. It’s missing pictures of our Christmas play, Easter, Graduation Day and other important things. We don’t pass it around to reminisce much anymore but the pages are rumpled the binding torn and loose. It isn’t well taken care of anymore; it doesn’t seem as precious as it once was. Seasons pass and with them years but those empty promises still hold silent tears. Now I look at my own children and realize it doesn’t take a magical incantation to raise a smile or draw tear to drape a heart in darkness or polish it with a light that shines. It only takes the careless wielding of a simple word like promise. I pray I always remember this and keep the promise I made to myself for my family a long time. THE END [comments] => 1 [counter] => 234 [topic] => 44 [informant] => richardworts [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Nostalgic )
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