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the-notes-concluded
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Music of Our Lives (The Notes – Concluded)
The Music of Our Lives (The Notes – Concluded) 2048 1365 Jason Stadtlander

 

The following is Part 2 of “The Notes”

Michael spent hours playing hide and seek with Kasmira, which proved to be a challenge once he had finished looking for her and couldn’t find her. For she could not hear him shout “I give up! Where are you?”

Kasmira’s mother came in the second time he gave up looking for her. “I don’t know where she is, but she can’t hear me call for her.” The little boy told the woman.

Her mother smiled and stamped her feet slowly three times on the floor, so hard that glasses tumbled inside the china cabinet. A moment later, Kasmira came down the stairs, a broad smile on her face. Then her mother held out one arm as if to say “There she is!”

Michael smiled. “That’s how she knew right where I was! She could feel my feet moving closer or farther away!”

Kasmira’s mother laughed, “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah. How come she can feel me, but I can’t feel her?”

“Well, two reasons. First, you probably could if you tried. Kasie has worked very hard to feel all the vibrations around her. When you are missing something, the body finds a way to compensate and enhance other senses. Second, she has learned to walk very quietly so that her vibrations don’t interfere with other vibrations.”

Michael nodded his head. “Huh.”

Within a few weeks, the two became good friends, spending time with each other any time they could. Kasmira was happy to have someone she could spend time with and Michael enjoyed learning sign language and getting to know her world. It was about this time that Kasie began speech lessons. She spent hours working with speech therapists and learning to make sounds with her vocal cords. Initially, her sounds did not sound like anything but noise to Michael. However, over time she learned to tighten her vocal cords and mimic the vibrations in her throat that she felt in other people’s throats. Michael helped Kasie by slowly, loudly saying words as she felt his neck, and then she would try to mimic his lips and his vibrations.

“Can’t she have her ears fixed?”  Michael asked her mother at one point.

“No, she was born with labyrinthine aplasia, a condition where she is missing her inner ear, the part that we hear sound with. Someday, perhaps they will find a way to help her hear. She does have the nerves there to hear, but she is lacking the inner ear to transmit the signals to that nerve.”

“Well, I think she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.” the boy stated.

##

It had been twenty-nine years since that day at Kasmira’s house when Michael had professed his friendship for the small girl that now lay here as a woman. And here he sat, staring at that same girl. Kasmira still had the long auburn hair clear down to her waist, though at the moment it was tied up in a bun. She was wearing a hospital gown and looked at her husband of ten years and their two children who were about the same age as she and Michael were when they met. Her best friend and fellow dancer, Carrie was also in the hospital room. Carrie looked Kasie in the eyes, “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry. They do these procedures all the time. And when you get out, you will finally be able to hear my voice.”

In her muddled, hollow-sounding voice, Kasie replied, “Thank you. I can’t wait to hear it.” she then looked at Michael. “I love you, sweetheart.” then to her children, “You are both my everything.” she smiled.

Both the children jumped up and gave her a hug, followed by Michael giving her a hug.

A nurse came in and spoke with the family and then wheeled Kasie’s bed out of the room toward the O.R..

Michael looked on as they wheeled her down the hall. He saw her hands come up above the bed and sign “I’ll be right back.”, an inside saying between them whenever they had to be away from each other. A tear rolled down his cheek and he hugged their children then slowly walked back to the waiting room with them.

Three hours later the doctor came into the waiting room, “Michael ?”

“Yes?” Michael got up as did the children and Carrie.

“I’m sorry, initially only the family is allowed in the recovery room, but you’ll be able to come shortly.” the doctor told Carrie. “Your wife is in recovery, I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing you when she wakes up. Follow me.”

As Kasie’s eyes opened slowly, she saw Michael and her daughter Elizabeth and her son Matt looking at her. She smiled and said “Hi.” in her muddled voice. She saw Michael’s lips say “Hello beautiful. How are the drugs?”

She laughed, “Very strong.”

The doctor walked over to them and look directly at Kasie so she could read his lips. “The surgery went very well. As I stated earlier, we’re going to wait until the incisions around the implant heal. We should be able to turn on the implants in about four weeks.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Kasie said.

The family spent another hour waiting for Kasie to come completely out of her stupor and then she was wheeled out to the car, still groggy. “Are mommy’s ears turned on?” Matt asked.

“No, not yet. Her implants need to heal first, then she will get to hear us.”

What felt like months, but in actuality was only three weeks, the whole family sat at the doctor’s office waiting for some news. The doctor finally walked back into the room. “Well Kasie, how would you like to hear today? The healing has gone very well and I think it’s safe to give it a try if you’re willing?”

Kasie eagerly nodded her head, nervous. The doctor showed her how to attach a long cable with a magnet on the end to the spot where her implant interfaced under the skin. Kasie felt a light tap as it magnetically attached. “Ok, let’s give this a try. I’m going to start very low and see if you can hear a beep.”

Kasie said nothing and just looked on anxiously as the doctor pressed a button on his keyboard. Kasie’s eyes grew wide as her brain processed something it had never experienced before. A low-tone beep. The doctor turned off the beep and pressed another button. He then looked at her children and Jack and nodded. Elizabeth said, “Mommy? Can you hear me?”

Kasie’s hand went to her mouth and she laughed and quickly the laugh became a cry. Tears rolled down her face. “Sweetie? You can hear us?” Michael asked, tears rolling down his own face. Kasie nodded hard and cried even more, then hugged him.

“Why is mommy crying?” Matt asked, “Does it hurt?”

“No sweetie, she’s just overwhelmed with happiness. She can finally hear us.”

the-notes-jason-stadtlander
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Notes
The Notes 1200 576 Jason Stadtlander

“Sit down over here” Michael’s mother instructed him as they walked along the balcony of Symphony Hall.

His grandmother had bought him and his parents tickets to the symphony in an effort to help him to become more ‘cultured’. He was wanting no part of it though. He could watch the symphony on YouTube if he really wanted to. What was the point of coming here? The lights dimmed a little and Michael sat up a bit looking toward the stage. There were still people gently talking all around the hall. Then a group of musicians came out carrying instruments and sat down. A few tuned their instruments and remained still. Finally, a man came out and stood on the platform in the spotlight and held up his hand high in the air, then looked at all of the musicians and waved his hand, and simultaneously, they began playing the Theme from Jurassic Park as John Williams directed them in tempo. It sent a chill up the boy’s spine. He was instantly mesmerized. Michael watched the musicians playing, each individual but all part of a greater voice.

That was when Michael saw it.

The boy watched from the balcony as the little girl in the summer dress slowly inched closer and eventually sat next to the large amplified speaker sitting next to the stage. She had long auburn hair and fair skin, both a stark contrast to the pale blue dress she was wearing. The girl had been sitting three seats over from him before the concert began and although the boy had noticed her, he did not speak to her. He had no idea when she had gone downstairs. Now she slowly reached out and touched the speaker, the sounds of the orchestra pouring out of it as John Williams’s right hand swiped from left to right in the air while his left changed pages on his music stand less than fifty feet from her. She closed her eyes and placed her head on the side of the black box and was clearly moved as was the boy sitting a hundred feet away above her. A kettle drum bellowed and she smiled, eyes still closed as the orchestra neared the crescendo of Star Wars. The girl, so small next to the massive speaker, the boy couldn’t believe that the sound wasn’t too much for her to handle. He noticed a few people looking at her and briefly wondered if she was doing something against the rules.

The little girl’s smile was illuminated as if lit up by heaven. She had an ethereal beauty about her and an innocent discovery that he wasn’t completely sure he understood. The girl looked back and up at the balcony, seeing the boy looking down at her and smiled warmly, then pointed at the black box she was leaning on. The boy smiled and shrugged his shoulders, not understanding what she was trying to convey. He stared at her, his blue eyes locked on her brown eyes and for a moment, the room was empty, save the boy, the girl, and the music. For a fraction of time, it made sense to him and the moment passed. Then the girl looked to the boy’s right and moved her hands in front of her face, making gestures at the woman nearby.

The woman looked over at the boy and smiled, causing the boy to have a puzzled reaction, feeling like he was missing something that had transpired between the two of them. The woman leaned across the aisle and whispered to the boy, “She wants to know if you feel the music.”

He looked confused, “Feel the music?”

“My daughter is deaf, she’s never heard music before. This is the first time she has ever experienced a concert and is listening to the orchestra by feeling the vibrations in the speaker down there.”

The boy smiled and looked down at the girl who was eagerly anticipating his response. He nodded and delighted, she went back and put her arms and head down on the box, feeling it vibrate as the next piece in the Star Wars ensemble played out.

Suddenly, the concert was no longer interesting to the boy for the girl was so much more fascinating. She felt the music and she talked with her hands, from across the room. He yearned to understand more.

During the intermission, the girl came back up to her mother gesturing excitedly. The boy stepped across the aisle to the woman. “Why does she move her hands like that?”

“It’s how she talks. It’s called sign language.” The woman made a sign with her hand off of her forehead in a motion, “This means ‘hello’.”

The boy looked at the girl and gestured ‘hello’. The girl signed some more gestures, to which the woman translated. “Her name is Kasmira. She wants to know where you’re from.”

“We live in Chestnut Hill.” he replied, to which her mother translated, speaking aloud as she signed, “He lives in Chestnut Hill, not far from where we live in Cambridge.”

She nodded, “What’s your name?” her mother asked.

“Michael,” he replied, looking over at his own parents who were watching patiently.

The girl’s mother signed out the letters of his name.

“She would like to know if you want to come over for a play date this weekend.”

Michael looked toward his parents and his mother nodded. “Sure, sounds good. Just let me know your address.” his mother said.

Over the next several days, Michael spent over an hour each day watching how to sign on YouTube, he was amazed that there was an entire language that existed where you never had to say a single word out loud.

Saturday finally came and Michael and his parents stood on Kasmira’s step. The door opened and the little girl stood on the step and smiled at Michael. He made the sign for “Hello, thank you for inviting me.” She smiled and said in sign language, “You’re welcome. Would you like to play hide and seek?”

Confused he looked up at her mother who was standing behind her, “She wants to play hide and seek.” He nodded and ran in after her.

~ Check next week for the conclusion ~

 
  • Jason Stadtlander

Jack & Elaine – The Bracelet
Jack & Elaine – The Bracelet 1024 609 Jason Stadtlander

A newspaper slapped the door and landed on the porch with the normal thud. Elaine turned her bike around and headed down the driveway in the cool early morning toward the next house. Thud—the next newspaper landed squarely where she threw it. She had a saddlebag over her, the front was half full of newspapers and the back had yet to be emptied, weighing heavily on her.

Elaine had gotten the newspaper route five months ago to earn some extra money and she had saved up enough for the iPod touch she had been wanting. She was also planning to do some shoveling once the snow started to fall. At the moment she was finding great joy in the crisp late fall air. There was no snow on the ground yet, but the smell of winter was abundant. 

Looking toward the next house, she failed to see the skateboard ramp that a child had left along the sidewalk, and her bike’s front tire caught the lip on the side of the ramp. Elaine was thrust over the handlebars so fast she didn’t have time to think. She put her hand out to catch her fall but landed hard on her shoulder and her head slammed into the ramp. Despite the protection of her helmet, Elaine’s vision began to blur and she could feel herself losing consciousness. Just before she passed out, she saw a woman walking toward her in a long dress or nightgown. The woman had long dark hair and reached out for her just as Elaine’s vision filled with white and she went unconscious.

As awareness returned, Elaine heard sirens in the distance. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw a man looking down at her; there was a bright light on the ceiling above. She tried to sit up and look around but couldn’t move her head. She held up her right arm, then her left. Missing from her left arm was the charm bracelet that her mother had given her for her fifth birthday.

“Don’t move. We have your head stabilized for the trip. You’re in an ambulance,” the man said.

Suddenly Elaine’s head hurt badly and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“Yeah.  A woman . . . No,” she replied groggily.

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Elaine. My name is Elaine. Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Mark. I’m an EMT. We’re taking you to the hospital. Do you know what day it is?”

“Yeah it’s . . . Tuesday.”

“Good. And the date?” Mark asked.

“December eighth, I think.”

“Good. Just rest.”

“The woman—who was she?”

“I don’t know about a woman. A man called 911.  He saw you lying on the ground outside his house.”

Elaine was taken to the hospital where a few tests were performed and the doctor decided he wanted to monitor her for the day. As she lay, drifting in and out of sleep, her parents sat by her side. They only stepping out at three that afternoon to get a bite to eat downstairs.

Lying there, once again Elaine drifted off to sleep but awoke suddenly to a rustling noise. She opened her eyes to see the woman in a plain white dress she had seen earlier at the accident. She was stepping around the corner of her hospital room door, leaving. Elaine looked down at her bed and noticed her charm bracelet in her closed hand; the same bracelet that had fallen off during her bike accident.

A few seconds later her parents walked through the door. “Who was that?” Elaine asked.

“Who was who? Your father and I have been out in the hall for a few minutes by the nurse station. We didn’t see anyone,” Her mother replied.

“A woman. She was wearing a long dress—she just left.”

“Sweetie, no one has come or gone from your room in the last few minutes that we’ve seen.”

Elaine looked down again at the golden bracelet in her hand. A new charm now hung among the others on the delicate chain—a small heart, the side of which looked like an angel’s wing.
  • Jason Stadtlander

Our children’s Upbringing is Not Our Own
Our children’s Upbringing is Not Our Own 1440 810 Jason Stadtlander

Fifteen years ago, I saw my son emerge into the world and it was the first time I can really remember getting choked up at the emotion of an experience. Here was this tiny living person that I had helped create, someone that was part of me and part of someone I loved. A tiny person that could not even feed themselves, had yet to learn to walk or speak. Activities that his mother and I had the responsibility to teach. Elements to living that we would not even realize we were teaching, things like compassion for others, learning to pet an animal gently, or showing respect.

Among the more interesting things have been hiking, biking, learning to swim, and learning to climb. Being able to live my own childhood again through my children’s eyes. Sitting on a deck while drinking coffee as they chase a duck down by the pond and remembering my own years of sneaking up on a turtle or trying to pet a rabbit. It’s easy to get wrapped up in your child’s childhood, to want them to experience everything you experience. I’ve taken my children on trips all over the United States and tried to show them things that I experienced.

A few months ago, I asked my son some of his favorite things we had done. He rattled off places like Cape Cod, Maine, Montana, giving specifics of going to beaches and going on whale watches and it got me thinking. I have strived to always take him to places that I loved while growing up, like Ohio, Lake Erie, and Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. Don’t get me wrong, he enjoyed Mammoth cave and liked some of the things I did as a child, but they were not his favorite. For a moment I got a little upset, I didn’t let him know it, but I was very annoyed that he didn’t enjoy the things I did as a child.

One of the most rewarding experiences about being a parent, especially beyond the elementary years is not having your children relive your own experiences, but watching them live through their own.

How could he not absolutely love the Air and Space Museum in Dayton? As strange as it sounds, it was the first time that I really stood back and realized that it was because he was living his own childhood, not mine. My son was his own person and was experiencing a childhood through very different eyes than mine.

Some of my greatest experiences have not been things that my parents taught me, but have been discoveries I’ve made on my own. Like traveling the country, the world, and my own inner journey to understand myself better. Sure, my parents laid the foundation and that was critical, but I am the one who stepped off our shores and found out just what the rest of the world sees in America and what part I can play in this whole thing called the human experience.

This led me to another line of thought, what part was I to play in this? My oldest son may be fifteen years old now and I tend to be a little slow to come to realizations on things, but I do think I still have a big part to play. My job in being his father is to expose him to as many things as I can. Not things that I have personally experienced, but things that are new for both of us. Teach him to explore his own world and experience his own discoveries. This is a problem I have seen with my own father and many other parents – trying to force your children to love the things you loved instead of embracing the uniqueness of their own lives and experiences.

One of the most rewarding experiences about being a parent, especially beyond the elementary years is not having your children relive your own experiences, but watching them live through their own. So I will endeavor to help my children face their own future, make their own discoveries and I will strive to realize that their experiences are their own, not mine and there is nothing wrong with that.

jack-&-elaine-on-the-mark
  • Jason Stadtlander

Jack & Elaine – On The Mark
Jack & Elaine – On The Mark 1662 809 Jason Stadtlander

“On your mark! Get Set! Go!” the teacher yelled. As soon as he had spoken the word ‘go’ six children took off down the track, tiny legs pumping hard, arms flailing, and Jack among them.

Jack could feel his heart beating in his chest as he came around the first turn, he badly wanted to glance over his shoulder but didn’t dare. There were now three children in front of him; Susan, Tyler, and John – the boy that had made fun of him on the bus two months ago. Jack’s feet began to reach a steady cadence forming a rhythmic pounding on the red recycled rubber track. A soft whoosh could be heard every time his sneakers hit the surface. In the distance, a bird called and children could be heard screaming something that Jack couldn’t make out. He rounded the second turn, passing John and close behind Tyler. Now half away around the track, Jack, Susan, and Tyler were approaching the far side bleachers where the rest of his gym class sat. Among them, his new best friend, red-headed, freckle-faced Elaine screaming at the top of her lungs “Go Super Jack! Go! Go Jack Attack!”

That statement alone was enough to give him the added drive to increase the beat of his feet on the pavement. Ever so slowly he approached and passed Tyler who quickly fell back. Jack’s lungs were burning by the time he reached the third bend. He took the inside lane coming up on Susan’s left and found a force deep within him to drive his legs faster, no longer an uncoordinated child, but a machine. Jack worried that he might not have the ability to control them if he increased his speed, but found the power none the less. He passed Susan just as they made the fourth turn and the finish line was in sight.

His teacher, Mr. Crabtree stood at the finish line with his stopwatch, waiting for the children to cross the line. Jack could hear Susan attempting to catch up, but it was futile, he now had a good five yard lead on her. He sprinted as hard as he could to the finish line and blasted across it unable to slow down for twenty feet and finally coming to a stop. Jack stood, slumped over with hands-on knees staring down at his sneakers, his lungs felt like they were on fire but he felt so alive.

Two minutes later a hand slapped him on the back gently, it was Elaine. “Jack! You flew! Good job!” she exclaimed.

Still out of breath he replied “Thanks. I can’t believe I beat John.”

Elaine scoffed “That idiot? You left him in your dust halfway around. I was impressed you beat Susan. She’s a good runner.”  She looked at him. He was glancing back at John “Why do you let John bother you so much? You’re so much better than he is.”

“I’m just so used to him picking on me. It’s strange, to do something better than him, that he can’t stop me at.”

She took him by the shoulders and stood him up, staring him in his blue eyes. “I don’t cheer on stupid people or weak people. I cheer on ‘super people’ like you ‘Super Jack’” and she hugged him. The two walked back towards the bleachers, passing John but not looking at him one bit as the other children cheered Jack’s approach.

Checkout Jack and Elaine’s other adventures

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  • Jason Stadtlander

Jack and Elaine – Bad Things and Good Thoughts
Jack and Elaine – Bad Things and Good Thoughts 402 512 Jason Stadtlander

Jack walked into the living room to see a photo of a beautiful young woman in a silver frame. It sat on a small table across from the sofa accompanied by other smaller photos featuring the same woman who he knew to be his aunt, yet he had never met her.  There was a quiet solitude shared by the small grouping of photos as two flames danced about in the glass panes from the candles set amongst the frames.

The boy’s father walked into the room and set down one more photo. “Why are there all these pictures of Aunt Heather?” Jack asked his father who looked at him, sorrow in his eyes. His father grabbed the leather ottoman and pulled it up to the table motioning for Jack to join him.

“Today is a special day. Do you know what today is?” his father asked.

Jack searched his mind but could not come up with a good guess. “Wednesday?” he asked.

“Yes. Wednesday the eleventh of September. Eighteen years ago, September 11th, was on a Tuesday… Just like today, it was a beautiful day. But on that beautiful day, there were some bad people that did some bad things.”

Jack, only six years old, looked inquisitively at his father, not quite understanding what he was talking about. “Why?

“Well, it’s complicated.” His father replied, paused, then continued “On that day Aunt Heather was on a flight home and one of the bad men took over the plane she was on and crashed it into a building in New York city.”

Jack didn’t speak for a moment, consumed with this unwelcome news. “Was she scared?”

A tear rolled down his father’s cheek. “Mommy and I have wondered that same thing, many times. The truth is, it probably happened so quickly that she didn’t have enough time to be scared. At least that’s what we hope.”

Now the questions began. His father knew the barrage of questions was upon him and intended to discuss them regardless of his apprehension. It was critical that Jack understood.

“Will it happen again? Will bad people attack with planes again?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know, but people all over the world try to prevent it from happening again, but the truth is, there will always be people out there that want to hurt others.”

“Why didn’t Aunt Heather stop them?”

“It’s not that easy Jack. They were very strong and it was a very confusing and scary moment.”

“Why do people hurt people? Don’t they have kids? Don’t they have mommies and daddies too?”

“I don’t know son.” His father said cautiously.

Jack thought about this for a long time and then decided to go out to his tree house. He climbed up the ladder and saw his friend Elaine, seated on a chair. “Hi.” He said meekly and sat down beside her.

“Do you know what today is?” she asked.

“Uh huh. It’s Wednesday.”

“It’s nine eleven.” She replied despondently matching his somber presence.

“I know.”

Elaine looked at Jack, “Why do you suppose people hurt all those people back then?”

“I guess they were angry?” He replied.

“Why couldn’t they just talk? So many people’s mommies didn’t come home right? It’s so stupid.” Her voice broke as she spoke these last words causing her eyes to well up, though she held back her tears.

Jack looked at his friend, sensing some deep hurt but was unwilling to push. “You know, I think… maybe it was to teach us something.”

“Teach us? What could it possibly teach us?” she asked.

“Well, it taught my daddy to appreciate the family he has. It taught you and me to think about this stuff. Maybe if we think about it and we teach other people to think about it, it won’t happen again.”

“Maybe.” She said, looking back out the window on the lawn below. She placed her head on her folded hands.

“Maybe we will just realize one day that we are all the same. We are all just trying to be friends in this world and we need to do it together.”

“I’m glad I have you as my friend.” He said.

She smiled and looked at him. “Me too.” and the two hugged.

If you’re interested in reading more about 9/11 and a recounting of the events, check out Feathers in the Wind in Ruins of the Mind or listen to The Story Portal episode of Feathers in the Wind

Checkout Jack and Elaine’s other adventures

jack-elaine-the-power-of-laughter
  • Jason Stadtlander

Jack & Elaine – The Power of Laughter
Jack & Elaine – The Power of Laughter 1600 1200 Jason Stadtlander

The two children sat in their little chairs twenty feet off the ground inside the treehouse Jack’s father had built. Torrents of rain beat down on the shingled roof above and the air inside the treehouse was damp from the deluge outside. The two sat quietly, looking out the side window facing Jack’s home. The window had cross-members but no glass allowing the spring breeze to blow in. The small space was filled with the pleasant smell of fresh cut grass, wooden planks and cool crisp rain.

They didn’t need to speak. There was a comfort in the silence surrounding them, it was something Jack enjoyed—a friend who enjoyed solitude as much as he.

Jack looked over at Elaine. Her arms were propped on the sill of the window, her chin resting on top. “Want to play a game?” he asked.

Elaine turned to him and smiled. “Sure. What do you want to play?”

Jack stood up and walked over to the small bookcase next to the wall and pulled out a deck of Fish cards. “Go Fish?”

“Okay,” she said happily.

Jack sat down at the small table as Elaine pulled their little chairs over to the table. He dealt out five cards each and the two sat facing each other, eager to make matches. Elaine asked Jack for a shark. He had none. So, she pulled a card from the pile, then looked over at Jack.

“Jack, why were those boys teasing you on the bus the other day?”

Jack shrugged. “Do you have any starfish?”

“No,” she replied, watching Jack pull a card from the pile. “Why do you let them pick on you? You’re stronger than that.”

He looked at her, her fire-red hair made her blue eyes seem brighter than they might have been had her hair been brown or blond. “Why do you care?”

Elaine shrugged, “Just do. I don’t like bullies. What do you like to do at school?”

“I don’t really like school very much. I usually just play on the playground or read a book. I like to read.”

Elaine’s face lit up. “Me too! What do you like to read?”

Jack looked past Elaine, contemplating his favorite books. “I like Amelia Bedelia—she’s funny. Also the Gruffalo. My daddy does really good voices for the Gruffalo.”

Elaine laughed. “I like her too! Amelia Bedelia is so silly!” Her laugh was so light- hearted it made Jack laugh too. Elaine added, “Did you read the one where she was asked to put out the lights . . . ” She began giggling, “and Amelia took all the light bulbs out and hung them on the clothesline?”

Suddenly, the tiny redhead was laughing so hard she was crying. Her laugh was infectious. Jack, in turn, began laughing along with her.

“Put them on a clothesline!” he repeated, laughing even harder. He began laughing so hard he started to cry and fell out of the hair which only made Elaine and Jack laugh harder. She jumped down on the floor next to him laughing.

The two six-year-olds were now in a complete fit of giggles on the floor inside the tree-house, the Fish cards strewn all around them.

A few minutes later, they sat up, still laughing, wiping tears from their eyes. Jack felt as he had never felt before—carefree and alive—living life as all children should, was something he wasn’t sure he had ever done before. How the friendship of a young girl named Elaine, could touch him so deeply was something he couldn’t quite grasp, but he was happy to have her as a friend.

And so the two sat, playing Go Fish, talking and giggling over other stories they had read.

Checkout Jack and Elaine’s other adventures

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  • Jason Stadtlander

Jack & Elaine – A Silent Call for Friendship
Jack & Elaine – A Silent Call for Friendship 1200 794 Jason Stadtlander

ABOUT THE SERIES: The next several posts will be part of a series I wrote a while back. It’s about two children named Jack and Elaine and some of the trials and tribulations they go through.

A Silent Call for Friendship

There was a cacophony of noise filling the air as children talked and laughed on the bus ride back from the science museum. Ten seats back on the driver’s side, a lone young boy named Jack sat staring out the window. He saw cars drive by, people walking and clouds floating listlessly through the sky. Trees lined the road and birds sat upon the wires as they drooped above the streets. A warm breeze blew in the window, tossing the hair of the six-year-old sitting on the green vinyl bus seat. The bus hit a bump and kids bounced and laughed, but the boy did not so much as smile. He just continued looking out the window.

The boy’s mind wasn’t in the bus at all. He was flying free outside alongside the bus, looking in at himself. That sad, solemn face peering back. He looked down to break the gaze of his mind’s eye, at which point the bullying words from within the bus were audible again. “Hey stupid! Hey ree-tard. Who dressed you? Huh?” a child said from across the aisle. There was a rise laughter from children nearby.

“Stupid. Can’t even hear me, can you dummy?”  The voice said, followed by an audience of laughter.

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes and a lone tear went down his soft cheek as he stared out the window. Jack always tried so hard not to listen to the other boys. Why do they always choose me to pick on? He asked himself. The truth was, he knew why. He was quiet, smaller than the other boys and preferred to read over playing.

“Lackey Jacky the stupid dummy.” The boy said again and staid “Lacky… Jacky.” the other boys started chanting “Lackey Jacky”.

Jack spent so much time in his own world, his own place where he could find solitude. He sat staring out the windows, playing alone in the playground or simply drawing pictures that brought him peace. Trapped here on the bus was like living through his own private hell and no one ever seemed to notice or care. There was a part of him inside that was screaming for them to stop but he had been put down and made fun of for so long that he couldn’t defend himself. Not anymore.

He began to cry softly sitting there alone in his bus seat, as the boy led on the other boys in the chant of “Lackey Jacky the stupid dummy.” Then the boy from across the aisle said in a pouting face, “You crying baby Jacky? Boo hoo. It’s so sad, that he’s so stupid. Cry baby Jack, where’s your Mommy? Hmm?”  the boy called.

Jack glanced over at them and then turned and looked out the window, feeling complete and utter shame for not being able to defend himself and yet there was also an anger, deep within him that he couldn’t quite grasp. Just as Jack was contemplating why he couldn’t defend himself and why people always chose him to pick on, there was a loud smack. The sound of skin on skin caused Jack to turn quickly and look at the boy that had been tormenting him from across the aisle. The left side of his face was beat red and tears were welling up in his own eyes. Standing in the aisle was a girl that Jack had seen at the playground. She was tall for a six-year-old, had red hair and freckles and was smiling right at him. She turned and looked at the boy that was bullying him.

“You gonna cry?” she mocked towards the boy, then she sat down beside Jack, his heart leaped. He had never had someone stick up for him before and felt an alien emotion creeping in. Respect? Elation?

“Hi, I’m Elaine.” She said, holding out her hand. He shook it and smiled through eyes that were drying. “I’m new to the school and it looks you need a friend. Just so happens, I need one too.” She said smiling.

“I’ll be your friend. Thank you.” He said smiling.

Checkout Jack and Elaine’s other adventures

the-boy-conclusion-suicide-10-year-old
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Boy – Concluded
The Boy – Concluded 1484 770 Jason Stadtlander

WARNING: The following story deals with strong topics such as depression, suicide, and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.

NOTE: This is a conclusion of the story published last week: https://jasonstadtlander.com/the-boy/

George ran hard, tears streaming from his face. The cool fall day chilled his skin as he ran, over wet branches, through fallen leaves, over two logs that lay on the ground. He was eager to escape the pain and internal torture he was feeling. He wasn’t afraid of getting caught, he had already been caught. All four of the other children had seen him attack Tommy. Is he dead? Does it matter? Of course, it matters! “I want to be dead!” he screamed out loud.

He came to an embankment and stumbled down the bank to the dried-out stream at the bottom. Climbing back up the other side, he came to a large patch of moss on the ground below a tree, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists down into the moss, wetness splattering up, he screamed at the top of his lungs and he collapsed. He could feel the damp forest floor soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t care. George turned onto his back and looked up, the pale blue sky showed through the almost naked trees above him. Puffy white clouds floated past a few branches and George’s heart raced. He had brutally hurt Tommy. He knew what he did was wrong, he had never hurt anyone before. George was always the good kid, the kid that helped anyone that was in need. He tried to help the underdogs because they underdogs were… well because they were like him. “I’m sorry Tommy,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears rolled down the boy’s face. He sat up when he heard something. In the distance, he couldn’t see them, but he could hear his Mom calling out and Officer Swartz. “George! Where are you? Please come back!” his mother called.

“George, you’re not in trouble. Come here, son! We just want to talk to you!” the police officer said. George had known Officer Swartz his whole life, his kids went to school with him in Canal Fulton.

George got up and ran the other direction. He knew in his heart his life was over. There were more kids like Tommy. He would hurt more people. He wasn’t the same. Not like he was two hours ago. Now, he was different. Now things would never be the same. So George ran and kept on running.

Eventually, he came to the edge of the woods and saw the two-lane road of State Route 93 that stretched out over Route 21. He ran to the concrete bridge and looked out over the four-lane road below. A semi blasted his horn for the boy, believing that perhaps that’s what he wanted. No doubt a father behind the wheel, wanting to make a boy smile. George did not smile. There was nothing to smile about. He had killed that boy. Killed him with his own hands.

George looked down at his hands, as they rested on the concrete divider. There was no blood on them now, at least none that he could see. He climbed up onto the concrete divider in the now bright sunlit day and stood on the narrow edge. He trembled, feeling cold and scared. Too scared. Staring at the cars below, his heart pounded, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, afraid or just exhausted. He moved two inches toward the edge, his feet now hanging over the edge a few inches. A car horn honked below. The cars were speeding by, traveling at least sixty miles per hour. George wasn’t thinking about how fast the cars were going. He was thinking about Tommy. How he had made George so angry. How he had caused George to lose control. “I don’t ever want to hurt anyone again. I don’t want to hurt,” he said under his breath.

The twelve-year-old boy could hear sirens in the distance as he closed his eyes and took one last step.

If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal, you can get help by contacting the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

the-boy-jason-stadtlander-bullying
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Boy
The Boy 1125 750 Jason Stadtlander

WARNING: The following story deals with strong topics such as depression and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.

The boy sat staring at the ridiculous frog wearing the baseball hat, holding his hand up high on the box of Kellogg’s Sugar Smacks cereal. He took long, slow crunch after crunch, still struggling to shake the deep lethargy, yearning to return to his bed and drift off to sleep again.

Whitney Houston belted out ‘All at once’ on the small plastic radio on top of the refrigerator “Ever since I met you, you’re the only love I’ve known…”. Spoon into mouth, sweet milk on his tongue, the cereal crunched some more. The room was filled with the smell of fried eggs in bacon fat and wet dog, as Ben had just been let back in from the rain through the patio door in the kitchen. The wet dog stood in the corner drinking water.

“George, dry him off, will you please?” his mother stated. “I need to finish making breakfast.”

The boy dropped his spoon in the bowl with a clink, slowly got up and grabbed the towel that they kept next to the door for the dog. He rubbed the black lab aggressively, more so that he could get back to his cereal than to dry off the dog. George rubbed Ben’s face and then down his neck. The boy stopped and looked the dog in the face, who looked back with his light brown eyes. He almost felt as if the animal could read his mind, feel his despair. He wrapped his arms around the lab and hugged him, despite the smell and the dampness. Then the boy got up and walked back to the table.

In the corner, Ben took one last great shake off which still managed to spray a bit of water on the patio door and wall. “George! I asked you to dry him off!”

George looked up from the bowl, “I did mom.” He continued to crunch the Sugar Smacks. He could feel his mother looking at him, he knew she was glaring, probably upset, but he didn’t really care. His mind was sluggishly focused on the future task, getting to the bus stop and better yet, avoiding Tommy.

The song on the radio had changed, “Every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you…” Sting sang with The Police. George took a few last bites and picked up his bowl, drinking the sweet goodness that remained. The boy looked up at the clock on the radio just as the plastic number flipped to 7:12 AM. Not feeling any sense of urgency for his 7:20 bus, he got up, placed his bowl in the sink, grabbed his backpack and walked toward the door.

“George. Coat.” His mother called from the kitchen. The twelve-year-old grabbed his cream suede jacket and put it on, then walked out the front door as he slung his backpack over his shoulders. He was grateful the rain stopped, but dreaded going to the bus stop.

Shoulders slumped, staring at the concrete of the sidewalk, he plodded toward the bus stop. George saw how the rough concrete gave way every few feet to the smoothness of the grouted edge and finally to the crease of the walk, then to smoothness and then to roughness. Over and over the pattern continued. He saw the pattern but wasn’t thinking about it. George wasn’t thinking about much of anything. His heart was filled with the angst of how his day might start. He hoped today would be different. Today maybe Tommy wouldn’t be at the bus stop. Maybe Tommy would just be sick today. Fat chance of that. George thought as he looked to the end of the street. He could see the five other kids standing there waiting for the bus, Tommy standing among them. George looked down at his feet, wondering if his new shoes made his feet look smaller. He dreaded the upcoming encounter, every morning it was the same thing. Perhaps, perhaps today would be different.

George slogged slowly toward the bus stop, not getting close to the other children, standing back about ten feet. He liked the other kids well enough, they weren’t mean, but they didn’t do anything when Tommy picked on him either. He could feel the tension building in him already. Tommy was talking to Mike with his back turned to George, so at the moment he was safe. George looked down the road, praying that the bus would come around the corner. Maybe the bus will get here before Tommy turns around. Mike was not one of Tommy’s lackeys, but he also wasn’t George’s friend. Mike was the kind of guy who tried to ingratiate everyone. George’s younger sister called Mike a ‘suck-up’ or a ‘fair-weather friend’. She was probably right. Mike attached himself to whoever seemed to be the most dominant person in a situation and now, that person was Tommy. Come on bus. Where the Hell are you?

Ever so slowly, Tommy turned around and his eyes lay right on George. Shit. “Hey, Bigfoot. Your mamma dress you in that?” Tommy gestured toward George’s jacket. George looked down at the cream-colored suede. He could feel his blood pressure rising, the tension in him building like a storm. “You look like an ice cream truck threw up on you.” Tommy started laughing.

“Shut up.” George spat. Tommy stopped laughing. “What did you say?”

“I said… shut. Up.” A few of the kids whispered. Tommy took his thermos out of his bag and opened it up. He threw the hot liquid at George, which was apparently hot chocolate and for a moment the hot liquid burned. George looked down at his jacket.

“There, now you look better. Can’t have a puke colored jacket without some brown on it.” Tommy said, braying laughter. A few of the kids started laughing. George no longer cared about the bus. He was so tired of dealing with Tommy and his bullshit. He was tired of hating himself for looking the way he did, the type of looks that apparently made kids like Tommy pick on him. He threw down his backpack and ran full force into Tommy knocking Tommy on his back on the sidewalk.

“Get off of me you big-footed freak!” Tommy screamed.

George climbed on top of Tommy and grabbed the kid by his black hair and slammed the back his head into the sidewalk. Tommy began screaming louder. Two of the girls screamed in horror at the sight of what was happening. George continued to slam the back of Tommy’s head into the sidewalk over and over and over until at last Tommy stopped making noise. He looked down at Tommy’s head in his hands and let go, blood covered the sidewalk behind the boy’s head. George jumped up and stared in shock at what he had done. What he couldn’t take back. He collapsed on the sidewalk and sat, staring at Tommy’s lifeless body. “Oh my God! You killed him! You killed Tommy!” Mike screamed.

George got up and ran down the street toward his house leaving his backpack at the bus stop. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He could just vaguely perceive the bus pulling up in the background. It didn’t happen, it was all just what I wished would happen. It was an illusion. He told himself as he ran with all his might. Running back into the house and slamming the door behind him he leaned on the closed door. Then looked down at this jacket, still wet with hot chocolate. Tommy’s hot chocolate that his mom had made for him for lunch. A lunch that the boy would never eat. George slid down the door and stared at the coat closet door across the hallway, slumped at the bottom of the front door, just as his mother walked in from the kitchen. She looked at her son, sitting at the base of the door and saw his jacket. “George? What happened?”

He said nothing. “George?”. She walked over and lifted his head, his eyes looked glazed. Then she saw the blood on his hands. She flipped them over, looking for a cut. “George, what happened? Are you okay? Whose blood is this?” he continued to stare. “George!?”

The twelve-year-old looked up at her, “I killed him, Mom.”

“What? What are you talking about? What happened!?” she shook his shoulders. Tears ran down the boy’s face and he began to cry. He jumped up and turned, opened the door and his mother grabbed him by the arm. George jerked hard and ripped his jacket at the shoulder, running out the door and slamming it in his mother’s face. He got to the end of the sidewalk and stopped, looking up the street toward the bus stop he saw the kids still there, bent over Tommy just as a police car pulled up near the kids.

“George!” his mother called from the door. One of the kids saw George and pointed. George quickly turned right and ran as hard as he could toward the end of the street. He ran across the street at the end of the culdesac and between the two houses into the woods behind them.

~ Check for the conclusion here  ~

Copyright © Jason Stadtlander - All Rights Reserved

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