Free From – Chapter 9 – July 9th

I hope you will join me this month as we JOURNEY each day through our short story. It is about finding FREEDOM in the midst of all the captivating pieces in life that steal our peace which we need FREE FROM!

FREE FROM
July 9, 2021

Genesis 16:13, ‘She gave this name to the Lord Who spoke to her: “You are the God Who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One Who sees me.”

Chapter 9

The night was falling around them like an old holey cloak, one that every once in a moment would let through a tiny draft of air but mostly just felt stuffy and overbearing. The sounds in a city heightened when the sun went down, the clang and crash more pronounced and the lights so vibrant and vivid. Trace was trying to crawl inside of Legend; he kept skidding his little heels against the concrete as if he pushed hard enough, a hole in Legend might open up that he could disappear in to. Legend had ceased holding him close because the sweat mingling with the city dirt was making a mud pit. Still, deep down, Trace smelled all little boy and the memories played hide-n-seek with Legend’s heart.
He was a mixture of his own kids long ago, so much Blayze like his son, a constant truck hum slipping from his tongue when he pushed a rock along the sidewalk and the ratty tangle of dark dreds like his son once sported falling across his little face. Then he’d turn penetrating blue eyes on Legend, and he instantly remembered what being wrapped around his daughter’s pinky had felt like. Breize had owned her daddy. Whoa! The illusions were magical and real all at once.
Every time a regret began to form in his head, like, ‘Why did I have to put myself here, get involved? Why couldn’t I just have looked the other way? Why are idiots that prey on defenseless children allowed to wander the streets? What am I going to do?’ Every time a question involving the kid and what was next threatened Legend, integrity and character showed up, and the wondering became immediately moot.
But they couldn’t stay here like this either. Ludicrous that Legend himself climbed inside a plastic trash bag and wrapped a cloth around his head and slept the sleep of a baby most nights, but he had to find more than this to offer the child. The city lights played rainbow tricks off the skyscraper windows, and the honk and screech of vehicles carrying harried people, had caught Trace’s attention, but he’d tire of it surely when his stomach cried louder than the cars, when the vision of his mommy flashed in front of his eyes. Surely. Surely, Legend had thought someone by now would have showed in search of the child but ironically no one even looked his way. He also had lectured himself internally, harshly enough, for not going to find a police officer before now; now it was just going to be awkward, and he’d be found in the wrong. But what would have happened if Trace’s family came skidding around the corner only to be met by Legend, shrugging his shoulders, ‘Sorry, ma’am, cops took him to Human Services. Don’t know what to tell ya.’ Suddenly the kid becomes part of a system that never can care enough. At once the rules have changed. Too many what if’s. So he’d done nothing but watched the movement of every passerby for endless hours. To no avail. The surely’s had grown silent.
“Com’on, little man,” Legend pushed himself to his feet and shook out the wrinkles in his legs. His body betrayed him now, all the years of harsh living and the remembrance of war tattooed on his limbs. He hadn’t stood up much today, not since the several times he had walked with Trace to the public potties. His feet revolted as he jostled them awake. “Let’s find us something to eat, yes?” It was startling to look in the eyes that had for all his life stared back at him. “Yes? What would you like to eat? You thirsty too? It’s past your bedtime by now, little man.” The boy hadn’t taken his eyes from Legend, but he also had been glued to him since Legend became his hero hours earlier. He watched his face as if waiting for a sign of the proper response.
Legend ruffled his hair; his heart hurt for this kid who was trying to be so brave, stoic, easy-going, when his whole life had been tossed in the washing machine of life and agitated, roused and rumbled. Legend glanced down at his little buddy, barely catching the tremble of his bottom lip and the fresh tear riding on his eyelash. “There’s an all-night diner right around the corner, little man. How about a hotdog and fries, or maybe a pancake? I know! How ‘bout a Mickey Mouse pancake?”
Legend almost tripped, he was so flabbergasted. Trace had stopped dead in his tracks, and when Legend turned to see why, he found Trace folding his hands as if in his lap, a gesture so seared in Legend’s memory bank he could almost smell the baby shampoo of his daughter’s hair.
“Hmmmm,” Trace sighed. “Hmmmm,” he sighed again, long and loud. “Tan I have Mitey Mouse pantakes, pease?”

To Be Continued…