ON A WING AND A PRAYER
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Tomorrow is my most anticipated day, and yet, the most feared, my sixteenth birthday. The parting gift is a suitcase. It has always been so, at least as I can remember. My best friend Alfie sits on my bed and turns his head away when he feels a tear welling up. “Lucky you,” he says, “Next year I get to fly this coop, and good riddance is all I can say.” I give him a push, and then grab an arm and shake him while laughing. “Without my bad influence, who knows what you could achieve. I’m thinking honor roll, or perhaps better yet, senior toilet cleaner.” He grabs the pillow and tries to muffle my words.
Orphan is a word that has always stuck in my throat or messed with my mind. Some will treat it like a crutch to earn sympathy, or others, an excuse to not try. Whenever the chance presents itself, I like to observe kids who have parents. Bottom line, you make your own way, with or without.
At St. Elizabeth’s, on your 10th birthday, you can start earning 10 cents an hour for your assigned duties. Mr. Ben Thrower, the head gardener, picked me, and I will be forever grateful. If a good parent cares for you, and wants you to care for yourself, then I could have no better father than this humble man. His oft-repeated story is like a melody etched in my mind. “You were a wee lad, Tom, when I first laid eyes on you, perhaps three years old. Whenever you had the chance, I would see you kneeling in the tulip bed, with your fingers stroking the stems of the flower, as if you were willing them to grow. I said to myself, Ben, this one has a true feeling for God’s creation, you could do no better.”
Alfie’s job is shoveling coal into the flue that heats the main building. It is dirty, back-breaking work, and the maintenance man made his life miserable. One evening, several years ago, I found Alfie huddled in the boy’s bathroom sobbing. Reluctantly, he admitted the man would touch him in a wrong way, and threatened to see him thrown out if he ever spoke up. The following day, I dragged my friend to the garden and spoke to Ben. He listened quietly and then led us to a bench by the lily pond. Taking a sandwich and an apple from his lunch bag, he asked us to eat while we would count the koi as a favor for him. He left for the main building, clutching his pruning shears. Thereafter, for Alfie, the workload increased, but the touching ended. Ben was now a father to two boys.
We have no mirrors on the wall in the boy’s sleeping wing, and only a small one in the bathroom. If they catch you looking at yourself in that mirror for more than a quick second, a smack on the back of your head will follow. False vanity, pride before the fall, and all that stuff is the motto. No matter, I still stare at my face, touch my cheeks, eyes, nose, and wonder, a man and a woman I never knew did this. What else did they pass on to me? When I sit at my school desk, I have the habit of lifting and dropping my heels on the floor to a steady beat. Did either of them do that to maintain focus? I am fascinated by our sense of taste and smell. Where did that come from?
When you are on your own, you learn from your mistakes, and try to learn from others, their good and their bad. I observed a younger boy named Oswald pinching a dime or two from the collection plate on several Sundays. I spoke to him privately on the matter. He sheepishly explained his sister had spoiled her underwear beyond cleaning, and the matron would not give her another pair until she paid 50 cents. Is it okay to steal for a good reason? He had 40 cents, and I gave him a dime.
Several of the boys are Dakota indians. One boy in particular, Paul, was my protector when I was young. Being small for my age, I was an easy target for those that carried anger in their heart and mind. Paul’s Dakota name is Kohana, which means swift. The teachers would punish anyone speaking in a native language, but Paul would teach me all his words and I would share them with Ben. At night before I fell asleep, Kohana would touch his tongue with the index finger and press it to my forehead and intone “Wakan tanka” which means noble spirit. I cried when Paul, suitcase in hand, walked out of my life. Will anyone be sad when I leave, maybe Alfie.
How to best plan for life on my own? I have a list of questions for consideration. Ben gave me a letter of recommendation and said I should first go to the Botanical Garden for a potential job. With $564 in bank savings, I will have rent money, but spending carefully will be critical. Perhaps there will be a community garden nearby. Ben says I have a green thumb with vegetables, and this could also be a source of income. A reoccurring nightmare lately has me getting sick and not knowing how to care for myself. Fingers crossed on that one.
This afternoon, I emptied the suitcase to recheck each item. The Sisters call our supply store Heavenly Nest, and I paid 25 cents for a spool of thread and a plastic case of needles. If I ever succeed in life, and can come back here to offer advice, I will recommend departing students to receive such items for free. Yes, the organization needs to succeed financially, but not on the backs of the children they are preparing to set free.
What does it mean to be set free? Looking out the window, I see a Great Blue Heron gracefully in flight. The slow rhythmic movement of its wings is mesmerizing, seemingly effortless. Does this bird fear for want of food, a place to rest in peace? Ben spoke of the ducks in the pond, and how they glide so smoothly across the water, and yet under the surface, their webbed feet are paddling furiously. Perhaps all life struggles in their own way, and each of us can only do our best.
Mr. Martin, our teacher, gave me a book last year for my 15th birthday. It tells the story of a young man’s yearning for freedom. This boy, named Phillip, like me, is an orphan, and raised in a religious setting. He was a cripple, born with a clubfoot, and yet he overcame many obstacles. Also like me, Phillip found religion somewhat hard to swallow when treated with cruelty by those who professed goodness in their words, but not so much in their actions. The Sisters would not approve of Mr. Martin’s pick, but I found it encouraging for an uncertain future. I hid the book in the bottom of my suitcase.
This year my birthday falls on Good Friday. I mention this because Ben and I have been busy in the garden. The ladies from town will come out to buy cut flowers for Easter, and we developed a unique black tulip that churches want for their Good Friday services. I have a bag of these bulbs for the Botanical Garden. Hopefully, this might help with my job interview.
Speaking of Easter, here is glorious news for Alfie. Starting next week, he joins Ben in the garden. Three more days of stoking the grimy flue, and then fresh air, wonderful fragrances, and time with our best adult friend. Wouldn’t it be something if the two of us ended up working at the same place? We could even save by staying in a boarding room together.
A thread to my life seems to be more clear as time passes. A perceived fear or obstacle forms a roadblock, and then someone enters to shine a light forward. At chapel on Sunday, the priest said something that rang my bell. He said rejoice always, pray constantly, and in all things give thanks. He and I have had our moments in the past, but that line is worth remembering. Just like thread can be the tie that binds in sewing, it can also be the tie that binds our life to others as we seek a path forward. Have I been a light or thread to someone in their time of need? I hope it would be so. To touch another person in a way that brings help or encouragement is certainly a worthy aim in the challenges of life we all face.
Often in the garden, I would witness the evolution of a caterpillar morph into the cocoon and then to emerge as a butterfly. Is that me? Am I ready to fly, or could I just be entering the cocoon stage? This thought gladdens my heart. How lucky I have been to be out in nature. Perhaps I could be like the tree that weathers a storm, or an ant living and working in a community with others. Best yet, how about being the duck that finds a mate for life?
Alfie asked if it would be okay if he missed the send-off line in the morning. Whenever a boy or a girl, suitcase in hand, is ready to leave St Elizabeth’s, a group will form outside the front door along the walkway to the street. Often, Alfie will hide his feelings behind a shell of indifference, or perceived lack of interest for fear of showing emotion, or worse, being called a girl. We have talked about this in the past, and I know him like a brother. I tell him I understand, and that it will make it easier for me, too. He gives me an uneasy hug and then looks to see if anyone is looking our way.
The night priest has turned off our lights, and Alfie has returned to his bed at the other end of the hall. I anticipate a sleepless night with fifteen years of memories to ponder. Soon, my body is moving down a river of tulips. On the shoreline, standing tall, is Kohana, no longer answering to the name Paul, extending a moist finger toward my soul. A small boat approaches. A man is pulling oars with all his strength. Suddenly, the flowers part, and it is Ben that glides past me. He does not speak, and yet his eyes and smile answer questions locked in my mind.
I abruptly sit up in bed, feeling a deep sense of wonder and thankfulness. Silently, I gather my clothes and step out into the hall. Dressing quickly, I move down the corridor to a back staircase, through the kitchen and into the garden. Moonlight turns the dew on the grass into tiny droplets of glass as I walk to the pond.
Kneeling at the edge, I put my hand in the water and slowly swirl currents outward to the center. A Mandarin duck, an adult male with all his brilliant colors, slips into the pond and gracefully moves toward my arm. There is a large white crescent above his eye, and he stares into mine. I quiet my fingers and feel his webbed feet in motion as he brushes back and forth around my hand. He moves away, but takes one more turn my way. I feel he is telling me all will be well. Sleep now leans on me as I return to my bed. Tomorrow is my sixteenth birthday, I await the day with joyousness.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Tomorrow is my most anticipated day, and yet, the most feared, my sixteenth birthday. The parting gift is a suitcase. It has always been so, at least as I can remember. My best friend Alfie sits on my bed and turns his head away when he feels a tear welling up. “Lucky you,” he says, “Next year I get to fly this coop, and good riddance is all I can say.” I give him a push, and then grab an arm and shake him while laughing. “Without my bad influence, who knows what you could achieve. I’m thinking honor roll, or perhaps better yet, senior toilet cleaner.” He grabs the pillow and tries to muffle my words.
Orphan is a word that has always stuck in my throat or messed with my mind. Some will treat it like a crutch to earn sympathy, or others, an excuse to not try. Whenever the chance presents itself, I like to observe kids who have parents. Bottom line, you make your own way, with or without.
At St. Elizabeth’s, on your 10th birthday, you can start earning 10 cents an hour for your assigned duties. Mr. Ben Thrower, the head gardener, picked me, and I will be forever grateful. If a good parent cares for you, and wants you to care for yourself, then I could have no better father than this humble man. His oft-repeated story is like a melody etched in my mind. “You were a wee lad, Tom, when I first laid eyes on you, perhaps three years old. Whenever you had the chance, I would see you kneeling in the tulip bed, with your fingers stroking the stems of the flower, as if you were willing them to grow. I said to myself, Ben, this one has a true feeling for God’s creation, you could do no better.”
Alfie’s job is shoveling coal into the flue that heats the main building. It is dirty, back-breaking work, and the maintenance man made his life miserable. One evening, several years ago, I found Alfie huddled in the boy’s bathroom sobbing. Reluctantly, he admitted the man would touch him in a wrong way, and threatened to see him thrown out if he ever spoke up. The following day, I dragged my friend to the garden and spoke to Ben. He listened quietly and then led us to a bench by the lily pond. Taking a sandwich and an apple from his lunch bag, he asked us to eat while we would count the koi as a favor for him. He left for the main building, clutching his pruning shears. Thereafter, for Alfie, the workload increased, but the touching ended. Ben was now a father to two boys.
We have no mirrors on the wall in the boy’s sleeping wing, and only a small one in the bathroom. If they catch you looking at yourself in that mirror for more than a quick second, a smack on the back of your head will follow. False vanity, pride before the fall, and all that stuff is the motto. No matter, I still stare at my face, touch my cheeks, eyes, nose, and wonder, a man and a woman I never knew did this. What else did they pass on to me? When I sit at my school desk, I have the habit of lifting and dropping my heels on the floor to a steady beat. Did either of them do that to maintain focus? I am fascinated by our sense of taste and smell. Where did that come from?
When you are on your own, you learn from your mistakes, and try to learn from others, their good and their bad. I observed a younger boy named Oswald pinching a dime or two from the collection plate on several Sundays. I spoke to him privately on the matter. He sheepishly explained his sister had spoiled her underwear beyond cleaning, and the matron would not give her another pair until she paid 50 cents. Is it okay to steal for a good reason? He had 40 cents, and I gave him a dime.
Several of the boys are Dakota indians. One boy in particular, Paul, was my protector when I was young. Being small for my age, I was an easy target for those that carried anger in their heart and mind. Paul’s Dakota name is Kohana, which means swift. The teachers would punish anyone speaking in a native language, but Paul would teach me all his words and I would share them with Ben. At night before I fell asleep, Kohana would touch his tongue with the index finger and press it to my forehead and intone “Wakan tanka” which means noble spirit. I cried when Paul, suitcase in hand, walked out of my life. Will anyone be sad when I leave, maybe Alfie.
How to best plan for life on my own? I have a list of questions for consideration. Ben gave me a letter of recommendation and said I should first go to the Botanical Garden for a potential job. With $564 in bank savings, I will have rent money, but spending carefully will be critical. Perhaps there will be a community garden nearby. Ben says I have a green thumb with vegetables, and this could also be a source of income. A reoccurring nightmare lately has me getting sick and not knowing how to care for myself. Fingers crossed on that one.
This afternoon, I emptied the suitcase to recheck each item. The Sisters call our supply store Heavenly Nest, and I paid 25 cents for a spool of thread and a plastic case of needles. If I ever succeed in life, and can come back here to offer advice, I will recommend departing students to receive such items for free. Yes, the organization needs to succeed financially, but not on the backs of the children they are preparing to set free.
What does it mean to be set free? Looking out the window, I see a Great Blue Heron gracefully in flight. The slow rhythmic movement of its wings is mesmerizing, seemingly effortless. Does this bird fear for want of food, a place to rest in peace? Ben spoke of the ducks in the pond, and how they glide so smoothly across the water, and yet under the surface, their webbed feet are paddling furiously. Perhaps all life struggles in their own way, and each of us can only do our best.
Mr. Martin, our teacher, gave me a book last year for my 15th birthday. It tells the story of a young man’s yearning for freedom. This boy, named Phillip, like me, is an orphan, and raised in a religious setting. He was a cripple, born with a clubfoot, and yet he overcame many obstacles. Also like me, Phillip found religion somewhat hard to swallow when treated with cruelty by those who professed goodness in their words, but not so much in their actions. The Sisters would not approve of Mr. Martin’s pick, but I found it encouraging for an uncertain future. I hid the book in the bottom of my suitcase.
This year my birthday falls on Good Friday. I mention this because Ben and I have been busy in the garden. The ladies from town will come out to buy cut flowers for Easter, and we developed a unique black tulip that churches want for their Good Friday services. I have a bag of these bulbs for the Botanical Garden. Hopefully, this might help with my job interview.
Speaking of Easter, here is glorious news for Alfie. Starting next week, he joins Ben in the garden. Three more days of stoking the grimy flue, and then fresh air, wonderful fragrances, and time with our best adult friend. Wouldn’t it be something if the two of us ended up working at the same place? We could even save by staying in a boarding room together.
A thread to my life seems to be more clear as time passes. A perceived fear or obstacle forms a roadblock, and then someone enters to shine a light forward. At chapel on Sunday, the priest said something that rang my bell. He said rejoice always, pray constantly, and in all things give thanks. He and I have had our moments in the past, but that line is worth remembering. Just like thread can be the tie that binds in sewing, it can also be the tie that binds our life to others as we seek a path forward. Have I been a light or thread to someone in their time of need? I hope it would be so. To touch another person in a way that brings help or encouragement is certainly a worthy aim in the challenges of life we all face.
Often in the garden, I would witness the evolution of a caterpillar morph into the cocoon and then to emerge as a butterfly. Is that me? Am I ready to fly, or could I just be entering the cocoon stage? This thought gladdens my heart. How lucky I have been to be out in nature. Perhaps I could be like the tree that weathers a storm, or an ant living and working in a community with others. Best yet, how about being the duck that finds a mate for life?
Alfie asked if it would be okay if he missed the send-off line in the morning. Whenever a boy or a girl, suitcase in hand, is ready to leave St Elizabeth’s, a group will form outside the front door along the walkway to the street. Often, Alfie will hide his feelings behind a shell of indifference, or perceived lack of interest for fear of showing emotion, or worse, being called a girl. We have talked about this in the past, and I know him like a brother. I tell him I understand, and that it will make it easier for me, too. He gives me an uneasy hug and then looks to see if anyone is looking our way.
The night priest has turned off our lights, and Alfie has returned to his bed at the other end of the hall. I anticipate a sleepless night with fifteen years of memories to ponder. Soon, my body is moving down a river of tulips. On the shoreline, standing tall, is Kohana, no longer answering to the name Paul, extending a moist finger toward my soul. A small boat approaches. A man is pulling oars with all his strength. Suddenly, the flowers part, and it is Ben that glides past me. He does not speak, and yet his eyes and smile answer questions locked in my mind.
I abruptly sit up in bed, feeling a deep sense of wonder and thankfulness. Silently, I gather my clothes and step out into the hall. Dressing quickly, I move down the corridor to a back staircase, through the kitchen and into the garden. Moonlight turns the dew on the grass into tiny droplets of glass as I walk to the pond.
Kneeling at the edge, I put my hand in the water and slowly swirl currents outward to the center. A Mandarin duck, an adult male with all his brilliant colors, slips into the pond and gracefully moves toward my arm. There is a large white crescent above his eye, and he stares into mine. I quiet my fingers and feel his webbed feet in motion as he brushes back and forth around my hand. He moves away, but takes one more turn my way. I feel he is telling me all will be well. Sleep now leans on me as I return to my bed. Tomorrow is my sixteenth birthday, I await the day with joyousness.
RICHARD SWAIN