Finding Peace

Northern California is a fairly remote part of the state. One major highway leads from the San Francisco Bay Area through towns nestled along the coast. There are no big shopping centers, some small-business manufacturing, and almost no traffic.

When her husband of five years, Victor, abandoned the family, Sandra Monroe moved up north to give herself and her two kids a fresh start. Plus she’d be far away from the cooperative farming community he’d bragged about, somewhere in state of Wyoming.

When she was preparing to move, Sandra went online looking for reasonably priced homes to rent. There was an old cabin in Fortuna that seemed to need a ton of work. The walls were covered with peeling, faded wall paper that spoke of the 1970s.

A rancher had a trailer for rent situated somewhere behind the barn. Its sides were dented, so the insides were probably dented as well.

When she found a small bungalow-style home for rent in the older part of Eureka, Sandra called the realtor. Thankfully Victor hadn’t emptied the bank account, so she had enough for the deposit and first month’s rent. Signing a contract without walking through the home was risky, but since school was starting in a week, she had to get Emma and Jake enrolled as soon as possible.

The drive north, once they got away from San Rafael, was gorgeous.  Forests lined both sides of the highway, whenever there was an open field, elk could be spotted, and a meandering river paralleled the road for a good chunk of the way.

Emma and Jake kept themselves entertained in the back seat watching movies on their iPads and playing games. Since the kids wore headphones, Sandra could listen to an audiobook she’d been wanting to read. Everyone was happy, occupied, and hopefully excited about moving someplace that none of them had seen.

Sandra hated leaving her job, teaching third grade, but thanks to glowing letters of recommendation, she quickly found a job working at a small public school, teaching fifth grade to a grand total of twelve kids.

The principal interviewed her on Zoom. He seemed professional, and stressed open communication. He believed in team-building, something Sandra wasn’t so sure about. Every time she’d been placed in a team, members either stole her ideas or discounted her suggestions.

When you stand just a tad over five feet tall, people treat you like a little kid. Sandra worked to change those perceptions, but only in her last school was she able to be treated as a valuable member of the team.

Thank goodness the home was move-in ready. They’d unpacked, then driven to the school so Sandra could meet the principal in person, look at her classroom, and get Emma and Jake enrolled.

School began two days later. Emma loved her first-grade teacher and Jake, who hated school, enjoyed his time in the computer lab. He’d joined the school’s soccer team and even though he’d never played the sport, quickly became the top scorer.

After school Emma went to the day care on campus. The way she described it, Sandra wondered if it was more like day camp than a tutorial.

Sandra had packed all easy-to-fix cookbooks, which helped her prepare meals that her kids mostly accepted.

She loved her students. They ranged in ability from well-below grade level to highly proficient, a nightmare when trying to meet all their needs. Sandra was used to adapting curriculum, but it took lots of planning.

Every night after dinner, she balanced grading papers with doing laundry, helping her kids with homework while working on next week’s lesson plans, and fretting over keeping the lights and water on, with only her salary as income.

She’d found an attorney who specialized in going after dead-beat dads, so she’d already filed for alimony and child support. Considering that Victor was working for free on that commune, unless he got bored, which was a huge possibility, there wouldn’t be any help from him any time soon.

Sandra loved her children so much. When they ran around the backyard catching insects and lizards, Sandra sat in a chair, her eyes filled with tears of wonder and joy. When they went to the park with a huge climbing structure, Sandra moved closer to offer support to Emma.

All was going well.

Autumn came in with a downpour. Since they hadn’t needed rain gear in Hayward, Sandra had to go shopping. She’d search through all the thrift stores in the area, carrying home armfuls of coats, hats, gloves, and even rain boots in the right sizes.

She struggled affording nutritious food, until she saw a flyer for assistance at the Unitarian Church.

Twice a week two women arrived in a black SUV. Both wore long dresses topped with solid-colored cardigans, their hair in neat buns. They’d pop open the back of the car, pull out boxes of food, which they delivered with huge smiles.

In order to get that assistance, Sandra had signed an agreement form that stipulate she had to be home and had to welcome in the church members. She was instructed to offer them tap water, with no ice, but no snacks of any kind. They’d share their interpretation of the Bible, pray while holding hands, and if the kids were present, place hands on the tops of their heads.

One last requirement was that the family had to attend services on Sundays.

Sandra hadn’t attended church since her marriage. Victor agreed to getting married in the Catholic church, but after that he rebelled, refused to go and wouldn’t let her take the kids.

 The Unitarian service wasn’t anything like what she’d grown up knowing, but she found the quiet and peace something she sorely needed.

Because Eureka sat right on the coast, it was subject to dense fog almost all year long. Sandra would get up in the morning, look outside, and see damp streets and muddy front yards. And that was due to heavy mist, not the rains that began in autumn and wouldn’t slow down until summer. Lightning was rare, but when it happened, all three of them panicked.

One evening in October, Sandra and Emma sat in the stands watching Jake’s soccer team lose to a team from McKinleyville, ominous-looking clouds rolled in. The wind picked up, so strong that everyone had trouble standing upright. Laughter broke out from players, spectators and officials as bent-over participants attempted to stay in place.

When the rains began, umbrellas popped open. Sandra expected the game to be called, but a parent she sat near, told her that if every outing was cancelled due to rain, or the threat of rain, nothing would take place. It was the fact of life in Eureka.

When the game finally ended, a resounding loss of 12-2, Sandra ushered her drenched kids into the car and drove home.

Her windshield wipers couldn’t keep the rain off, even at high speed. Her headlights reflected on the pavement, creating a wavy pattern that made it difficult to figure out where the lane lines were. It was a harrowing drive; made worse due to the worst traffic she’d seen since the move.

By the time they got home, the rain on the roof sounded like jackhammers, as it streamed down the windows, making it hard to see outside. Day turned into night, even though it was only three in the afternoon. They turned on a bevy of lights so Sandra could see to fix dinner, The kids watched some television, but only after taking turns in the shower.

Sandra had just placed a tray of grilled cheese sandwiches on the table when the lights flickered. She held her breath as she stared at the old-fashioned chandelier, praying silently that it wouldn’t fail.

After getting the kids settled at the table, Sandra said, “I’m really sorry, kids, but I’ve got to get these papers graded tonight.”

“What about the rule that we can’t do work while we’re eating?” Jake stuffed half a sandwich in his mouth.

“Yeah, Mom,” Emma whined, “no work at the table.”

“You’re right,” Sandra sighed. “But I heard on the radio that this storm is expected to be a bad one. The lights might go out and then my students would be disappointed when I couldn’t return their work.”

Her kids exchanged looks that told Sandra she was making a huge mistake. “How about if I work for only thirty minutes? And then we’ll do something fun.”

“We can build a fort.” Thomas swung his legs back and forth so hard that his toes cracked Sandra’s shins under the table.

“Sounds like a great idea,” she said as she rubbed away the hurt. “Rinse off your dishes and load them in the dishwasher. Then get ready for bed, including brushing your teeth.”

“Can I get the sheet?” Emma’s eyes lit up with excitement.

An ear-splitting crack shook the house, which was then followed by the zigzag streak of lightning. The three of them shot up, eyes wide open, staring out the kitchen window.

“You said it didn’t thunder up here.” Shivers shook Emma’s tiny body.

Another blast jolted the house, making Sandra wonder if it hit something close by. A smell of singed wood slowly penetrated the house, causing Jake to cough.

She handed him an inhaler, which seemed to help.

Sandra slid into her raincoat, then said, “Stay in the front room until I get back.”

“Don’t leave us,” Emma whined as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs.

Sandra pried off the tiny fingers, leaned over and planted a kiss on Emma’s forehead. “I won’t be gone long. I just need to make sure we’re okay.”

Just as she opened the door, thunder roared all around them, a terrifying sound that felt as if the heavens were attacking their small house. The lights went out, casting them into total darkness.

The rain intensified as more and more flashes lit up the sky.

“I don’t think you should go outside,” Jake said in his quickly deepening voice. He squared his shoulders, making himself seem taller. “I say we all stay together.”

“Mommy, I’m scared!” Emma dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around her bent knees.

“I have an idea,” Sandra said. “There are flashlights in just about every room. Let’s divide up. Emma and Thomas, you search in the bedrooms. I’ll check the bathrooms, the front room, and the kitchen.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Emma said. The little girl’s feet refused to move.

“Hurry, now,” Sandra said as she placed a hand on her daughter’s back. “When you’ve found at least one for each of us, meet back here.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to have at least one flashlight, which they quickly turned on.

Sandra shook her head. “For right now, we’ll only use one at a time to save the batteries.”

The trio found refuge on the couch, Sandra in the middle, with Emma tucked under her left arm and Jake, pretending to be brave, leaning against the arm to her right.

The wavering light danced against the walls, illuminating the few photos Sandra had managed to hang before she had to go to work the first day. Familiar faces took on a ghoulish appearance. Corners were filled with eerie shadows that danced in the yellow light.

As a native Californian, and especially someone who had lived in the Bay Area her entire life, Sandra had little experience with thunderstorms. The few times it did thunder, there’d be only a blast or two, and then the storm moved on.

This was frightening because it was unexpected.

There was another resounding boom which shook the house as if it were a thin rag. What felt like a jolt of energy pulsed through the air, causing Emma’s long hair to fan out like a headdress, Jake’s short hair to stick up in crazy directions, and Sandra’s hair to stand on end, almost like a halo.

As suddenly as the storm hit, it left, accompanied by a suffocating stillness that fell over them like a heavy blanket. Sandra pulled her children tight against her chest.

A warm, flickering brightness filled the living room and didn’t stop. It intensified with each tick of the clock on the mantle.

Sirens filled the air, seeming to be approaching her neighborhood. The kids wanted to go outside and watch, but at first Sandra refused to let them go.

When she smelled smoke, she stood and said, “Kids, I think we should go outside.”

“It’s still raining,” Emma said as she hung back, clinging to her mom.

Jake, on the other hand, flung the front door open and dashed out into the storm without putting on a jacket.

Sandra grabbed an umbrella she’d placed in the closet, opened it as they stepped outside, then led Emma out to the gravelly road.

One look behind her and Sandra knew the flickering lights weren’t cause flashlights, but by flames dancing up the walls.

By now a bunch of neighbors had gathered outside. A heavily bearded man wearing overalls with one strap dangling, told Sandra to move on down the road in case power lines fell or the gas line exploded.

It seemed like a terrific idea, so Sandra grabbed Jake’s hand as he dashed by, tucked Emma close to her chest and quickly walked down to the nearest intersection.

A small hook-and-ladder, pulled into their street, followed by small fire engine and the Chief’s SUV. They stopped in front of her house and the fire people immediately connected hoses to hydrants and began spraying the flames.

Two firefighters went onto the roof and punched holes, while several others pulled lines of hoses into the backyard.

An older woman that Sandra had yet to meet handed the three of them cups of hot chocolate. After checking them for smoke inhalation, paramedics wrapped them in foil blankets.

More and more people line the street, most of them talking animatedly despite the late hour. What surprised Sandra was that almost everyone stayed outside until well after dawn brought light to the world.

Once the fire was out, an inspector called Sandra over to his side.

“The roof is compromised, ma’am. There’s smoke and water damage throughout the house.”

“Please tell me all the bad news,”

“Almost everything inside is gone, and what’s left is filthy.”

News of the fire quickly spread through the tight-knit community. By breakfast time, neighbors arrived with burritos, juices, and bananas. The Red Cross ushered them to a hotel in town where they could stay until permanent housing became available. The kids didn’t complain too much once they discovered an indoor swimming pool and so many Internet channels that it was practically impossible to decide what to watch.

FEMA helped Sandra complete stacks of paperwork, coordinated with her renter’s insurance, and gave them vouchers for food and clothes.

The Unitarian Church surprised Sandra by offering them housing in a rental unit they ran for people in need. Strangers dropped off clothes at the Safeway in town, as soon as everyone’s sizes were made known.

School supplies, including brand new backpacks, arrived the day before the kids were scheduled to return to class. F

One more surprise were the bags of food and coupons for local restaurants.

Sandra had never experienced such kindness before and didn’t really know how to express her thanks. That is until a local reporter stuck a microphone in her face and asked a bunch of intrusive questions.

Sandra was used to taking control of a situation: after all, she kept her class in line even when silliness and complaints threatened to derail the lessons. The reporter gave up after a while and let Sandra talk, her earnestness coming across as sincere gratitude.

One night during dinner, the family talked about what would happen next.

“We’re starting over,” Sandra said, “but this time we are surrounded by community.”

Jake nodded. “My soccer team gave me new cleats, shin guards and a uniform. It’s not my old number, fourteen, which I didn’t like. Now I’m number one, perfect for the highest scorer on the team!”

 Emma tried to hold back her tears, but couldn’t. “I wish we could go back home. I miss my friends.”

Sandra patted her daughter’s arm. “We all miss our lives there, but this seems to be a fantastic place to live. We’re more than okay,” she said. “The storm gave us more friends than we’ve ever had. Emma, your classmates cared enough to deliver homemade cookies, and Jake, your teammates offered to help you catch up with your schoolwork.”

She wiped away tears threatening to dampen her eyes.

“This is the beginning to our new lives.”

Childhood Memories

            When I was beginning fourth grade, my family moved from Dayton, Ohio, to a rural part of the state: Beavercreek.

            I wasn’t sad to move because the only girls on the street humiliated me over and over, all because I was fat and poor. They’d invite me over, then insisted on playing Wheelbarrow. It’s an embarrassing game, in which one player walks on hands while the other two players lift the feet up high, creating a human wheelbarrow. It’s not like the intent was to gather things, but rather to split the legs apart, showing the crotch.

            I was always the wheelbarrow, even after complaining, whining, really, that it was someone else’s turn. Whenever I crossed the street to play, I made sure my bottom wasn’t damp or stained or smelly. It wasn’t until this had gone on for several weeks that it finally dawned on me that those two girls weren’t looking for a friend, but someone to ridicule.

            When my parents announced that we were moving, I was excited to get away from those awful girls. My hope was that I’d make new friends. It also meant starting over in a new school, which I looked forward to.

            In my current class, I was the dumbest kid. From the time I enrolled in the Catholic Elementary, I was well behind in first grade. I fell further behind in second. Before the principal would let me return for third grade, I had to have my eyes examined.

            No surprise: I couldn’t see long distance, which meant I’d never read even a single word the teacher had written on the board. And close-up I dealt with a severe astigmatism that made the rows of letters buckle and slant. Once I had glasses, things became somewhat easier, but I was so far behind that there was little hope of catching up.

            The new house meant a new school.

            The girls in that class, at a different Catholic school, were just as mean as in my previous school. Not one befriended me. Not one invited me for birthday parties. I was pretty lonely, and spent playground time either walking the perimeter of the blacktopped area, or assigning myself to lunchtime tutoring. I preferred the tutoring as that nun was kind and helpful.

            Just as things were looking up for me, my brother and I got permission to explore the woods behind our house.

            We spent countless hours deep in the forest, imagining that we were explorers. We’d climb trees, well, my brother would climb pretty high whereas I’d get one foot off the ground.

            By this time I’d taught myself to read, and since my brother, who was one year older, needed the library to research, I got to go along and check out books.

            I refused the picture books as they were for babies. I wanted to read about what I then called Indians, to learn where they lived, what they ate, how they dressed, anything and everything.

It was that interest that introduced me to the idea of a treehouse.

I decided to build one in a spindly tree at the end of our yard.

My brother and I had spotted lots of downed wood on the forest, but we never carted any of it home. I wasn’t allowed in there by myself, so I raided my dad’s supply of boards and nails he kept in the garage.

The nails went into the pockets of my shorts, along with the hammer. I balanced the boards on my right shoulder, held in place with both hands.

I spread the boards out in front of the tree, arranged from smallest to longest.

With one hand on the tree, I lifted my right leg as high as it could comfortably go. That was where the first step would go. Using a nail, I scratched a mark in the bark.

I placed the first board on top of the mark and held it in place with my hip. I had put the nail in my mouth, so now I rested it toward the center of the board. I took the hammer out of my pocket, and while leaning against the tree, pressing the board against its bark, I struck the nail.

It seemed to pierce the board. I hit it again and again, the nail moving a tiny bit each time.

And then it bent over. I was angry, but convinced myself that it had actually gone in far enough. I added a second nail, not too far from the first.

The step was a bit wobbly, but in my little girl’s mind, it would do.

I added a second board, just above the first. It too, had bent nails.

Then with a huge stretch, I added a third, equally wobbly, but I shrugged it off.

The time had come to begin the climb. Holding a longer board in one hand, nails and the hammer in my pocket, I reached up to the second board, raised my right foot, and pulled.

I got it up on the first step, quite pleased with myself.

I pulled hard enough to get my left foot off the ground, but just as I was suspended in air, the first board broke. I fell.

And as I feel, the sharp edge of a bent nail sliced down my left arm, leaving a bright red streak. Blood seeped through, at first random spots of red. Quickly it turned into a small stream.

I knew my parents would be angry, so I couldn’t let either of them see what had happened. I wrapped my arm in my shirt and ran for the house.

My mother had a rule that my brother and I had to stay in one place all morning long, changing locations only when it was time for lunch.

My brother had gone to the garage where he loved tinkering with a transistor radio that he had built, so I didn’t have to worry about him.

My mom had eagle eyes and the hearing of a bat. And when angry, as ferocious as a lion.

She terrified me.

That meant I had to get inside without letting her know. I opened the screen door slowly carefully to keep it from squeaking. Once inside, I crept down the hall, avoiding the known noisy spots.

Somehow I made it to the bathroom without disturbing my mom. I knew how to care for an injury, so I got down the mercurochrome and the box of bandages. I cleaned the cut with soap, covered it with the mercurochrome and then a slew of bandages.

I snuck down the hall and back outside. Using the hammer, I removed all the nails, stacked up the boards and carried everything back to the garage, all the while worrying not about a potential infection, but how hard of a spanking I would receive.

Fortunately my brother was out riding his bike, so he didn’t see me sneak in. It also meant he couldn’t tattle on me, either.

Somehow, I got away with it.

The cut didn’t get infected, no one said anything about why I wore long-sleeved blouses in the summer, and my dad never counted boards.

For many years I wore a scar on my right arm. In time it faded away, but the memory of what I had tried to do never left me.

Training Pays Off

            Briana stood in the middle of a huge field; her head ducked down to avoid detection. She’d been playing with the wheat tassels, brushing them with her hands when she heard the gravelly voices of Kobat warriors. Briana chanced a glance in their direction, poking her head up just enough so she could see.

There were four: each dressed in dark green woodsman robes and wearing helmets so shiny that the roiling clouds up above seemed to be streaming from their heads.

One of the men glanced in her direction, so Briana ducked down, practically burying her face in the dirt. She hoped she was safe: that the men, traveling on huge war-horses, wouldn’t spot her so far below.

Briana wasn’t the waiting kind. She’d been reminded over and over that there were things worth waiting for, but she didn’t care. She’d whine and pound her fists as huge tears streamed down her face.

This time, though, she’d hide as long as it took until the marauders moved on.

She practiced her shallow breathing, making as little noise as possible. And she counted. To ten. Twenty. Just as she got to thirty-one, the wind came up.

            A gentle breeze at first. When she turned onto her back, it cooled her sweaty face. She opened her mouth to take in the blessed air, and the taste of fresh baked bread came to her. A fruit tart finishing up in a clay oven. The smell of clean clothes hanging out to dry.

            When Briana no longer heard the warriors’ voices, she ventured a quick peek. They hadn’t left, but were now leaning from one side of their horses to the other, sweeping aside the stalks, moving nearer and nearer to where she still hid.

            On hands and knees, Briana scuttled as quietly as she could, through the field, moving east, toward her hamlet where her family and friends would protect her. It took so long to travel such a small way and it was so hard, so hard to crawl over the lumpy dirt and roots.

            The breeze turned into a wind that tossed the tops of the wheat back and forth, creating a vibration that she not only heard, but felt. It called to her, singing a song of safety, directing her to change course, to move toward the men, not away.

            No, that can’t be right, she thought, but turned back anyway, remembering the lessons of her family. Listen to the voices, follow direction, do as your told.

            Her da had taught her how to stalk prey. Her ma sang about ancients who escaped detection when murderers came to their little valley. Briana understood now, for the first time in her ten years of life, why her parents spoke of such things: they wanted her to be prepared. And she was.

            Over the tops of the bending, waving wheat, Briana heard a high-pitched voice. She scrunched her eyes, tilted her head to hear better, but it didn’t belong to the warriors or to anyone she knew. It seemed to be saying, come here, come here and I will save you.

            Briana stole a look and ducked back down when there was a man standing within arm’s reach of where she hid. She held her breath for as long as she could, and then only took in tiny bits of air: enough. Just enough.

            When the man’s heavy boots stomped away, Briana crawled toward the beautiful voice, still calling her to come.

            A burrow appeared. Made by rabbits or a fox, but a path. A path heading in the right direction. Briana dug in her fingers, pulled herself inside the cozy wheat-tent. And there she stayed, the only movement slowly, slowly, covering herself with dried out stalks and bits of debris.

            When the sun moved, shadows deepened, darkened, her hiding place. She couldn’t see them, but she smiled when overhead the night birds sang, chirping happy songs. They wouldn’t do that if there was danger, she thought.

            Reminding herself to be brave, that she herself came from a long line of warriors, Briana scooted back out of the tunnel and raised her head until she could look out over the field.

            The men were gone.

            She hadn’t heard them leave. Had she fallen asleep?

            She stood with knees bent, high enough to catch the murmuration of tiny brown birds, diving, twisting, turning every which way in a mesmerizing pattern of dark and not-so-dark.

            A tawny cat appeared out of the gloom, rubbed against her leg. Briana reached down to pet it, to scratch its chin, but the cat raised its tail and turned, and with only a glance over one shoulder, disappeared.

            Briana followed as best she could. The cat helped, of course, by reappearing whenever Briana faltered or lost direction.

            Soon, well, maybe not so soon as her knees began to ache, the cat stepped out into a dirt path. It didn’t seem wary: instead, it meowed, then trotted off toward the roundabout trail that led to the village.

            The cat walked her home, which was good as Briana’s night vision had never been good. And within a heartbeat, her cozy cottage sprung from the dark, its windows aglow with candle light.

            Briana scooped up the cat, opened the wooden door and stepped into the waiting arms of her ma and da.

            I’m keeping the cat, she said. He saved my life.

            Her parents hugged her, saying sure, sure, sure.

            But then the cat jumped out of Briana’s arms, and before its four paws landed on the dirt floor, it morphed into a fairy: the most beautiful one Briana had ever seen.

            It seemed to be a boy, which surprised Briana as she thought all fairies were girls. Its luminescent blue wings shimmered in the candlelight. Briana tried to touch a wing, but the fairy grumbled, I am not yours, but you are mine. And then he helped himself to the last bowl of lamb stew, the one that had been saved for the little girl.