Inspirational

208

Tom Watson is my friend and a gifted writer. Since finding his own road home, following a heart-rending loss, Tom has sought to use his warm writing talents to help others find theirs. He weaves a blend of thought-provoking sayings, poetry, and narrative into his first fiction novel, “The Road Home.” Each chapter draws in the reader with new characters and a captivating storyline. Tom’s descriptive detailing of sights, sounds, and emotion makes the characters come alive, and energizes the reader to find out what happens next. Although life is difficult and sometimes unfair, “The Road Home” shows that “happy endings” do happen if people make the right choice. This book will make you think, make you laugh, make you cry, and give you hope for the future. There is a little of Jerry Marshall (the main character) in all of us. If you haven’t already found it, this book may help you find your own road home. Happy reading!
Chris Losey, Pastor

Excerpt
A Love Song

Family means love
Not anger, nor hitting pain;
That’s what I have heard

The round clock, hanging high on the wall at the front of the classroom, held dominion over all who sat below its watchful gaze. Unbending, despite the mental urgings of those who were slaves to its whims, it maintained its power and held in check the sea of faces below. The clock knew this was a power to only be briefly held now, for the moment was approaching when its hands, controlled by a power greater than his, would be reaching up and out, like some magic wands. And, when that occurred, his far reaching powers would crumble with the clanging clarion of bells, and instantly the sea of worshipers will have vanished as would the memory of his dominating moments.

Miss Winslow’s music class was moved from the auditorium to the new music room only recently; therefore, no drapes were hung yet over the windows to absorb the clanging sound of the school alarm, announcing the end of another school day. As the echoes died in the room, she turned toward the class.

“Children,” in a voice softer than they had ever heard from her, “have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. Remember to be grateful for each other and your parents, because this holiday is a about much more than the food. I hope to see you back safe next week. There will be no assignment. Class dismissed.”

Jerry and Sandra sat at their desks, surprised by the soft-voiced, gentle person that stood where once she loomed before them.

Jerry looked over to Sandra, “Would you wait here a moment?”

Sandra nodded her head, understanding what he was about to do, since he had mentioned the thing that had been bothering him for the last few weeks.

The rest of the class had already burst from the room like water-starved horses racing to an oasis, and Abigail Winslow had turned to the blackboard and begun erasing the notes she had just written in a slow sweeping motion, almost as if in a dream.

Jerry hesitated a moment.

“Ms. Winslow?”

“Yes, Jerry?”

Surprised by the use of his first name, and, again the gentle tone, Jerry hesitated, confused. At that point, he knew something was the matter with Ms. Winslow.

“Aren’t you and Sandy anxious to start your holiday? You two should be outside enjoying this fine weather we are blessed with.”

“Ms. Winslow, I just, I mean, I wanted to tell you something.”

Abigail turned to face him and Sandy sitting behind, her cheeks moist from what must have been tears. She smiled at them as she crossed slowly to her desk where she sat easily down. “What is it Jerry? Now what would keep two sweet children like you in a stuffy old, well, actually new…” she smiled, “…classroom?”

Jerry sat, looking at the corner of his music teacher’s desk, his finger slowly making little circles on it. The old turmoil within him had returned, causing a lapse of memory of why he wasn’t out in the late afternoon sun walking Sandra home instead of in this deathly quite classroom of a practically deserted school.

Abigail sat back, watching Jerry, patiently waiting for whatever the turmoil was in him to subside.

Jerry stopped the circling movement of his finger and looked up at Ms. Winslow.

“Ms. Winslow, I’m sorry.”

Abigail leaned forward and patted the young boy’s hand. “Jerry, forget it. The note is long forgotten,” she said, smiling.

Jerry blinked, a questioning look in his eyes, then understanding, “Oh, but I wasn’t speaking about that. I mean, of course I am truly sorry you had to go through that, and I understand how you would think I was the one who wrote it. The suspension was not so bad, and the work was caught up easy enough. It is just that…”

“Oh I know all about the movie day it turned into. When I heard about it I was actually relieved. By that time, I had realized how abrupt I had been and that you certainly were not that type of boy.”

“I am glad to hear that Ms. Winslow, because I could never be that mean.”

“Okay, well it was very nice of you to wait today to apologize. Especially today, Abigail said, patting his hand again, her eyes seeming to look beyond him, the classroom, even time.

Jerry turned toward Sandra, who was still at the desk, patiently waiting for him.

“Sandra, I’m sorry. This is taking me longer than I thought. If you need to hurry home I will understand.”

Sandra looked at the clock on the wall, then her watch to double-check the time.

“You’re right Jerry, I do need to head on home. Call me later, okay?”

“I will Sandy. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Jer. I understand. Bye Ms. Winslow, have a nice vacation.” She stood and turned to walk to the door, looking back once toward Jerry before the door swung shut behind her.

Abigail was sitting back in her chair, staring at the boy in front of her, wondering what was going through his mind.


Jerry, who had watched Sandra leave the room, took a deep breath and turned back toward Ms. Winslow.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Winslow.”

“Jerry, you already said that. Shouldn’t you be heading home yourself? I am sure your parents will worry if you are late.”

“I only have my mother, and she is working. Ms. Winslow, I am not talking about the note. I am sorry for your pain.”

Abigail’s breath caught in her as she leaned back in her chair, eyes at first widening in surprise, then closing as she raised her hand to them.


9

Sandra’s Revelation

We sit on the edge
Of His eternity’s ledge;
Slowly, it crumbles

Sandra sat on the steps where she would often see Jerry reading during recess. Only now, the school yard was empty; the buildings deserted. It was Thanksgiving week, when schools, at least, closed in order to allow families to travel to visit relatives across the state, country and even world.

Sandra had no place to go. Her family was here, and she sighed, worn out from lack of sleep. After finishing the math assignments at about six in the morning, she had left them on her desk and lay down, trying to not think of the blood smear on her food plate.

She was lying with her back toward the door, when she heard it open, as she expected it would. Her father whispered, “Sandra?” as he entered the room. Sandra didn’t move, closing her eyes in case he came around the bed. He hadn’t come to talk to her though. She knew this, as he was heard picking up the papers on her desk. After a moment, she heard him turn and walk to the door, pulling it shut behind. Sandra, after a minute in frozen stillness, turned on her back, tears running down her cheeks to her neck.

“Momma? What should I do?” She whispered to herself with a soft sob.

After that, she had slept restlessly for a couple hours, until she heard the garage door closing. “He’s gone” she thought. This was her first time to think of her father in such impersonal words. She then went to the bathroom and washed, then changed into jeans and short-sleeved shirt. In the kitchen, not seeing her mother around, she made some toast and Cream-of-Wheat, and ate, listlessly.

At about ten, her mother was still not downstairs, and Sandra began to worry. She walked to the stairs, hesitating as she looked up toward her mother’s room, then walked up and opened her mother’s door, softly.

Inside, she saw the blouse her mother was wearing when she had come home, wadded up in the chair near her vanity. Sandra was about to walk over to the chair to straighten the blouse out, but changed her mind when she saw the damp staining on the part facing her. She then looked over to the bed, afraid of her thoughts, but needing to know.

Her mother, back toward her, was breathing heavily, as in a restless sleep.

Sandra sighed in relief and turned toward the vanity. Her breath caught as she saw her mother’s brush, matted with tangles of hair, clotted together in several places. Her hand to her mouth, for fear her sobs would wake her mother, Sandra backed out of the bedroom, pulled the door quietly shut, and ran sobbing down the stairs.

She had run from the house, and jumped on her bicycle, wanting to go someplace, anyplace away from his house. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her mother, damaged as she must be, wanting to wait until what bruises and cuts there were could be tended to and covered by make-up. So Sandra just pedaled her bike as fast as she could to whatever direction she turned.

And so, there she was sitting on the bottom step, elbow on knee and her chin resting on her open palm, while she tossed small pebbles to the ground in front of her. A light breeze picked up occasionally to blow little swirls of dust through the space between buildings. The air was dry, like her thoughts, revealing that the weather man did not understand the concept that late November was supposed to be brisk, preparing for the frost of December.

In the back of her mind, tired still from the ordeal of the previous night, she heard what she thought was a dog barking, coming from the distant hills. As she looked up she saw Jerry heading toward her on his bike, waving with one hand. She smiled and waved back, happy to have someone nice around, who wouldn’t remind her of last night. She moved over on the step to give room for him, but not too much.

Jerry drove up with a big smile, and then dismounted leaving his bike next to where she had dropped hers. Squeezing in next to her on the steps, Jerry began to talk excitedly. “Wow, I was hoping you would be here, because I really wanted to talk to you. You wouldn’t believe what happened last night!”

Sandra turned toward him and Jerry stopped.

“Sandy, what’s wrong? You don’t look well. Are you feeling okay?”

Sandra simply shrugged, watching his face, filled with so much excitement; he could hardly stop the smile from returning. “Well I know what will pick you up. Wait till I tell you about last night and …”

She could control herself no longer. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and with her face on his chest, she began to cry.

Jerry sat still, surprised and embarrassed, afraid to move. Then, awkwardly, he patted her on the back, realizing his best friend was in pain. After a couple of moments with her leaning on him, and after her sobs had eased up somewhat, he gently pushed her shoulders back so that he could look at her. Seeing the tired, red eyes and the drawn face, he could hardly keep tears from his own eyes.

“Sandra, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Seeming then to realize what she was doing, she quickly pulled her arms back, resting her hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Jerry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Her face, even with her tanned complexion, appeared flush, as she bowed her head.

It was Jerry’s turn, then, to wrap an arm around her shoulder, cradling her against his own shoulder.

“Its okay, Sandy. That is what being friends is all about, being able to lean on each other and offer comfort when needed. Isn’t it?”

Sandra smiled at him, thinking, with an inward sigh, “boys”. “I guess so” she murmured, as she relaxed against him, sniffling.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong Sandy. What is upsetting you so much?”

Sandra straightened up again, not from embarrassment, but so she could look at his face.

“Should I tell him?” she thought to herself, realizing the need to say something to someone about her father’s meanness.

“What is it, Sandy? You need to talk about whatever has hurt you so much. Maybe I can help you. Will you let me?” Jerry said, softly, in that voice Sandra heard him use when she was leaving him with Ms. Winslow. He reached his hand out toward hers, offering her comfort. She hardly noticed the brief bark of the fox in the distant hills as she nodded her head and took his hand.

Taking a deep breath, then releasing it slowly, Sandra said, “My father… he b-beat up my m-mother,” as her voice began to crack up again. “I hate him!”

“Sandra, tell me what happened from the start. Why would your father hit your mom?”

Jerry’s voice seemed to calm her, and so she began going over the previous night’s happenings from when she got home. When she reached the point of picking up the sandwich plate with the blood smears, she began to break down again, and Jerry waited patiently. “I’m sorry Sandy,” he said, patting her hand. “What happened after that?” trying to help her to stop dwelling on the scene in her head.

Taking a deep breath, she continued to the telling of her mother’s bloody blouse and the long hairs in her brush, when she broke down again, with Jerry again waiting patiently, encouraging her to continue beyond those scenes in her head. From there she arrived at her coming to the steps where Jerry found her.

Jerry then put his arms around her, giving a gentle hug. Releasing her, he looked into her eyes with his own eyes, which she remembered in later years as an amazingly bright blue.

“Sandy, you knew he had done these things to your mother before, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly.

“What did your mother do then?”
“She didn’t do anything. I asked her once, and she said not to worry about it, that it was her fault. Every time, it was always her fault.”

“What about your father? Is he always mad? What did he do later, that is after he hurt your mother, his wife?”

“No, my papa is not always mad. Most of the time is very kind and gentle and laughs a lot with mom and me. It is just that, if I do something he doesn’t like, he will send me to my room, usually, blaming mom for the mistakes I make.”

Sandra began to sob, sadly saying “It is my fault momma gets hurt. I always cause it.”

Jerry patted her shoulder, “That’s not true Sandy . You aren’t that strong or powerful to force your mother’s husband to hit her. He does it himself.”

Sandy frowned. “But when I mess up, he says he is going to teach mom how to raise me.”

Jerry was silent a moment, as the fox in the distant hills began his bark again; the sound, though faint and distant, seemed to reverberate within his head.

“Sandra, do you love your mother?”

She looked up at him quickly, eyes wide, “Of course I love her, Jerry! Good gosh, how can you ask that?”

“You love her, even though she refuses to protect herself? Even though she allows you to accept the blame for what is happening to her? That is what she is doing by not speaking up; by not defending herself and you from his actions.”

“What?! But she is only protecting me from being punished…” her words trailing off as she thought more about what Jerry was saying.

“Do you deserve to be punished that way then?”

Sandra placed her head in her hands, “Oh, Jerry, no, no way… I don’t know …”

Jerry placed his hand on her shoulder, “Do you love your father?”

“No!” She looked back up at him, glaring. “I hate him!”

“Do you hate him for worrying about you? Do you hate him for not being raised in a loving family; being taught the only things he knows as to how to be a husband and father? Do you hate him for things beyond his control?”

Sandra stared at Jerry, trying to understand why he was talking to her like that.

“But, he hurt mom!”

“And you love her because she was protecting you; because she was doing what she was taught to do in growing up; to accept punishment where no punishment was deserved?”

“Yes… no…, oh Jerry stop, will you? I don’t know…”

Jerry turned her to face him fully, his strangely bright blue eyes holding her to him; “Love your mother, for she brought you into this world, but understand she had a whole life before you, and the things she may have learned may not have been always correct, so she will make bad decisions, so in loving her, understand, and return her love for you by trying to help her with those bad lessons in her life. Even though you are young, you are her daughter and you can help her.”

Sandra nodded in understanding, as she continued to gaze into those seas of blue.

“Sandra, love your father, for he helped bring you to this life. His love for your mother is why you are here, but always understand, he had a life before your mother and you… he was taught what was the proper way, according to his parents, to raise a family, and what to expect from a wife, and because of those lessons, he is not fully aware of what true love in a family means. He needs to be taught those things. Most importantly, he needs the love of his daughter, even when he is wrong. You can help your father be the person he can be, gentle and strong at the same time. Talk to him. Though you are young, you are his daughter. Tell him what you have seen and tell him you love him and don’t want to lose him.”

Sandra again nodded her head, a sob escaping her throat.

“You have a lot of love in your family and a lot of lessons to learn to bind it all together. Yours is the binding glue if you choose to use it, Sandy, if your heart is open to it.”

“Oh Jerry, I do, really I do, but how…?”

“Place your faith in God, Sandra, and go with what your heart tells you. You should go home, your mother needs you now, as will your father when he comes home. Don’t be afraid, just be loving.”

Sandra, smiling for the first time in two days, wrapped Jerry in her arms, kissing him on the cheek, “You are a wonderful friend, Jerry. Thank you, and I will try to do what you said… thank you so much!” Sandra grabbed her bike and took off, as Jerry, sat stunned by the kiss and sudden departure.

The barking of the fox had stopped minutes ago, and Jerry rubbed his dark blue eyes as if coming from a sleep.

“Sandra? Wait, where are you going? What do you mean “thank you”?”

She didn’t hear him though, for she had already rounded the corner of the parking area and had disappeared.

Jerry hung around the school grounds for a while, hoping Sandra would return. He still hadn’t had a chance to tell her about what happened at his home the previous night. As he wandered about the empty grounds, he thought more on what Sandra had told him and realized anything he told about his adventures would be unimportant. He also remembered the chill running up his back when she had finished; similar to just before the departed Ms. Winslow had started her story. Something had happened after each incident that he could not recall, but after each he had ended up either running away or being left alone.