Life’s
Challenges
“Hey,
Ma. It didn’t work again.”
Kate
looked out the kitchen window toward the tool shed. Jamie stood in the doorway
wearing his great great grandfather’s World War I gas mask. A doll dangled in
his hand by one foot.
“Don’t
worry, Hon. You’ll figure it out.” She wiped her hands on a towel and asked,
“Would you like some help?”
“Nah,
that’s okay. Don’t you remember the last time you tried to help?”
“You’re
right, Jamie.” She chuckled at the thought of the poor doll nearly headless.
She’d managed to sew it back on good enough for Jamie to continue his project.
“I’ll be doing laundry if you need me.”
“Okay.”
Kate
replayed the tragedy that had left Jamie homeless as she loaded clothes into
the washer.
Her
sister Caroline’s husband—and his replacement—gone, Caroline had turned to
drugs to deal with her mentally challenged son. The morning of the accident had
been a particularly difficult one.
Jamie
survived because he was staying with Kate. He didn’t behave well in doctors'
offices. He’d seen too many in his young life.
Kate
took a deep breath and wiped a tear from her eye. She never planned to have
children, especially after the age of forty. She loved the ones she taught each
day and that satisfied her maternal instincts. Then she inherited Jamie.
She
continued teaching until the end of the year but found it difficult to manage
both. Kate applied for financial assistance, and between that, her savings, and
money she earned tutoring, she and Jamie managed. It helped that the house was
paid for.
As
she sorted the clothes, she remembered her first few weeks with Jamie. He
couldn’t—or didn’t want to—understand what had happened. Kate never told him
about the accident. Just that his mom and sis weren’t coming home.
He
was calm at first, playing with his soldiers. Then he began to yell and throw
things. Being big for fourteen, like his dad, Kate found it difficult to
control him physically. Instead, she stood in the doorway until he collapsed in
tears, then cradled him in her arms. Eventually, he fell asleep. He remained silent
for the next week, sitting in a corner of his bedroom, refusing to come out,
and eating little.
One
morning, Kate asked Jamie if he’d like to come and check out his great great
grandfather’s footlocker filled with souvenirs he’d brought back from the war.
“No. I want Amy.”
“There
might be some things you can use when you play soldier.”
Jamie’s
head popped up. “Like guns?”
“Maybe,”
Kate replied, even though she knew any guns and ammo had been disposed of years
ago.
He
led the way to the attic. She let Jamie open the container. They both sneezed
as a combination of dust, mildew, and mold tickled their noses. He reached in
and pulled something out.
“What’s
this?” he asked.
“It’s
a gas mask. They had to wear them sometimes, especially when the enemy sprayed
something called mustard gas.”
“Maybe.”
She wasn’t used to lying to Jamie, and now she’d done it twice.
Instead
of responding, Jamie raced down the stairs and out to the shed, where he stayed
the rest of the day working.
Later
in the afternoon, she stuck her head in the shed and asked him what he was
doing.
“Fixing
Amy, ” he replied, his voice filtered through the mask.
“It’s
dinner time. You should eat.”
“I’m
not hungry,” he said.
“One
more hour, and then you eat.” Kate forced a smile onto her face. “You can’t fix
Amy if you’re sick from lack of food.”
“Okay,”
Jamie said, not looking at her.
One
hour later, Kate peeked through the shed’s plastic window and saw Jamie poking
and pounding one of Amy’s dolls. He poured soapy water on its lips and then
some 3in1 oil Kate kept in the kitchen. After each step, he’d put his hand over
where the doll’s heart would be and then hold its nose to his ear. All the time
wearing the gas mask.
After
dinner, Kate sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and listened to the
sounds coming from the shed. Once in a while she’d hear a “damn,” or an
expletive that made her cringe. She’d talked to Jamie a few times about using
such words but decided they were minor annoyances compared to the other
challenges they faced.
Kate
didn’t know how long Jamie would keep at his project or what he would be like
when he finally gave up. For now, she was happy and relieved he had a purpose
in his life.
Jim Harrington lives in Huntersville, NC, with his wife and two dogs. His
stories have appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Every Day Fiction, The
Houston Literary Review, Long Story Short, MicroHorror, Flashshot and others.
Jim's Six Questions For . . . blog (http://sixquestionsfor.blogspot.com/)
provides editors and publishers a place to “tell it like it is.” You can read
more of his stories at http://jpharrington.blogspot.com.
Tags:
Short Fiction