Caedmon of the Angelmen (Book 3 of The Angelmen Series)
by T.C. Slonaker
Chapter 1:
Most people would find the steady rain falling outside the window in Caedmon Bancroft’s classroom soothing, but the sight of so much water turned the little boy’s insides to a jumbled mess of spaghetti. When the teacher turned out the light to start a special movie for the class, the entrapped spaghetti spilled out of his mouth and all over the back of the little girl sitting in front of him. Only, it smelled much worse than spaghetti.
Again, as before, the teacher simply pointed to the door, the signal sending the boy to the guidance counselor’s office, as if the counselor would have an answer for him this time.
Before he left, Caedmon stole a glance at the roomful of children staring and giggling. Acting as their source of constant entertainment was nothing new. The last face he saw as he walked out the door was the sympathetic expression of his only friend, Ally.
*
Caedmon’s trip to the counselor took a good deal longer than usual. Meandering without urgency, he took the longest way around the school that he could find, peeking into all the rooms along the way. Kids were busy learning, focused on their teacher and lessons. Why couldn’t he just focus like they did?
Why couldn’t his mind get past the accident and move on?
“Hey, look.”
Caedmon halted but didn’t turn. He closed his eyes in the briefest of prayers that he might be left alone and unseen. Was the rest of that sentence going be, “That’s some amazing artwork on the wall?”
The voice wasn’t familiar to him, but the mocking tone of it was his everyday problem. In the schools he attended previously, there had been others. Different places provided different voices, but always the same tone, laughing without laughter, teasing without harassment. He hadn’t been in this school long enough yet to identify the bullies, but it didn’t take them long to find him. Bullies were drawn to him.
Another voice joined the first, “Yeah, it’s that fourth grader who’s afraid of the rain. Monsters swim, you know.”
As the pair broke out in laughter, Caedmon’s shoulders drooped forward. He hadn’t been missed; their radar hit the bull’s eye dead on.
The second voice was one he knew. It belonged to Brad Harkins, a fifth grader who sat with him on the school bus when “spaghetti stomach” hit that first rainy day at his new school. Brad would never let it pass.
Begging was an option not beneath Caedmon’s dignity, especially if it saved him from physical torment. “Listen, guys, just let me go, okay?”
“Oh sure, Weirdman. We’ll let you go.”
Not immediately recognizing the sarcasm, Caedmon turned to make sure they were going to walk away. Just as he did, he heard Brad finish his sentence.
“Go for a swim, that is.”
Brad wasn’t behind him, where Caedmon heard his voice a minute ago. His eyes nervously darted around to locate his tormentors. The quick sound of a faucet preceded a splash of water that the boys used to attack Caedmon’s face. Opening his dampened eyes, he saw the others standing by the water fountain just to his right.
The fifth graders continued to taunt. “Aaa, run! The Boogey Man is in the water!”
He heard more laughter. Caedmon removed his glasses to dry them with his shirt. He didn’t want to admit to the boys how much the sudden splash of water really shook him.
“Better go get your mommy,” Brad’s friend whined.
Caedmon’s fear was swallowed by defensive anger. Mother jokes came too soon, and although Brad probably didn’t know that, he would pay for it. Caedmon didn’t know how, but he had to do something. He could stand by and take whatever punishment was dished out to him, but no one could mess with his mom.
“You children will not bring the end to this boy.”
Even though the words came from Caedmon’s mouth, he was just as surprised as the others in the hallway. The thought behind the words was Caedmon’s sentiment, but the words were not his. Caedmon’s vision was blurred. The silhouettes of the bullies in front of him were nothing but shadows because behind them Caedmon saw an obscure, bluish light. The light pulsed with each syllable spoken by the ethereal voice that came out of Caedmon’s mouth.
When the light dimmed, he saw alarm on the other boys’ faces. The authority in the strange voice, however, comforted Caedmon. Although he couldn’t identify the speaker for the indistinct tonality of the voice, the words that echoed in his head, sounded like the voice of his mother.
Unless… Could it have really been his mom speaking? Caedmon knew better. It couldn’t be. Right?
Once the older boys regained movement in their leg muscles, they tripped over each other slipping across the wet floor to get away from the boy who had just become that much stranger.
Behind where they had stood in the middle of the hallway, her long hair flying in a breeze that was caused by the hasty exit of the fifth graders, and not displaying a trace of surprise, was Ally. She turned and walked back to her classroom, as though nothing had happened.
*
The nurse’s office was the first room in the next hallway. The teacher used to send him there every time he got sick in class. The nurse would let him lie down on a mustard-colored vinyl couch in a dark, quiet room. He didn’t mind the rest and solitude.
Those quiet times ended quickly when the nurse decided there wasn’t anything physically wrong with Caedmon. The weight of the ten-year-old was slightly disproportionate to his average height, but his heaviness wasn’t the source of his issues. Nor did the problem root itself in his near-sightedness.
The teacher began to send him next door to the counselor’s office, the door Caedmon now faced. He debated whether or not to discuss the recent bully event with the counselor, but, as usual, logic won. She would never believe him, so there was no good reason to bring it up.
He turned the doorknob, ready to fall into the chair and have another pointless discussion with Mrs. Rich. This time, what he found in the office was different.
Aunt Beth and Uncle Rodney were there, waiting rigidly in their seats.
“Have a seat, Caedmon,” Mrs. Rich advised the boy.
Although the counselor looked at him, his aunt and uncle guardians continued to stare straight ahead in the direction of Mrs. Rich.
The only available chair awaited him right next to Aunt Beth, though it was the last place he had any desire to be. The room was uninviting enough, full of dark, wooden bookshelves, filled to spilling over with books and binders. Even stacks of books on the floor waited their turn for a prominent place on a shelf, though it would likely be a while. The window was almost completely blocked by stacks of manila file folders, adding to the darkness of the room. The files wouldn’t fit in the only small grey file cabinet by the door and seemed to be the outcasts from those sitting on top of the cabinet. Given the overcrowding of paper in the room, Mrs. Rich’s large desk seemed an out of place piece of furniture behind which to hide, but there she sat, unapologetically, waiting for Caedmon to take his seat.
Deciding it wasn’t the time to begin a power tug, the boy complied and sat under the heavy glare of Aunt Beth, who decided to turn her attention to him.
“This was not convenient today, Caedmon.” Aunt Beth added weight to her stare with her words. “It is not easy for your uncle and me to just walk out of our jobs for a chat about someone who is not even our own child.”
Aunt Beth never seemed to miss the chance to remind Caedmon that she wasn’t his mother, as if he could ever make that mistake himself. Living in her family had never been his choice, nor was it hers. Through her words and constant reminders, she tried to excommunicate him from their family.
Mrs. Rich stepped in. “And, I do appreciate your making it down here, sloppy as it is outside, Mr. and Mrs. Harper.”
“Doesn’t bother me none,” chipped in Uncle Rodney, who worked in construction. “I didn’t have any work today.”
With Aunt Beth as refined as she put on to be, in a red suit starched and straight, and even her short blond hair straight and nearly perfect, Uncle Rodney seemed to be an unlikely match for her. His jeans and blue flannel shirt matched his more relaxed and comfortable demeanor.
Caedmon just figured Aunt Beth had needed someone who didn’t have much to say and wouldn’t interrupt her often. Uncle Rodney completed that bill fairly.
Beth threw a disapproving look his way, letting Rodney know he wasn’t to make their visit any easier on the boy. Another thing she must have seen in Rodney was his easy-to-control mindset.
Mrs. Rich continued, “Well anyway, I thank you. This is a matter of some importance, so I will come directly to the point. I think we have done all we can for Caedmon at this juncture. Our services have not improved his behavior, as demonstrated by today’s outburst. It may be time for you to consider another facility for him.”
The counselor straightened and re-stacked some papers on her desk to show that the matter had been given much consideration on the part of the school, though actually the decision had been made a few weeks prior, as she had hinted to Caedmon during a recent visit. Because his was such a sensitive case, the school had to prolong advancement to make it appear that they had used all their resources, but truly, no one there knew how to help the boy.
“Are you kicking him out?” Beth feigned insult by clutching at her chest, though she had already made it clear her responsibility for Caedmon was limited. Her anticipated over-reaction was another reason the school probably had drug their feet.
“No, of course not. I just don’t think our services are enough to benefit your son.” Mrs. Rich stayed as professional as she could.
Beth’s answer came automatically again. “He is not our son.”
“Oh, yes, forgive me.”
“I don’t have any parents,” Caedmon added sadly. He could have said it for their benefit, but really, he needed to remind himself of the fact again. Would reality ever sink in?
“Everyone here is aware of your poor, pathetic plight, Caedmon. We don’t need your commentary,” admonished Aunt Beth.
“What is our next step, then?” asked Uncle Rodney, moving the conversation along.
“Home schooling is an option, with regular therapist visits.”
The noise Beth made could have been either a laugh or a choked cough with the idea of quitting her job and staying at home all day with her nephew, so Rodney continued for his wife, “You don’t think he would benefit from other kids being around?”
“No, children can be cruel, and I think he will only become the butt of everyone’s jokes. Many children are already reacting to his... strange... behavior. However, you could try an institution where he would blend in with other children who have…” Mrs. Rich glanced at Caedmon for a second, as if just noticing he was there in the room, and wishing to not offend him, “similar issues.”
“You mean like a funny farm?” asked Uncle Rodney, with a little offense on behalf of his nephew.
Aunt Beth’s eyes lit up in intrigue at the sight of her escape. “This would be a facility with twenty-four-hour care, wouldn’t it? He would have to live there, right?”
The counselor nodded.
“Well, maybe that is exactly what the boy needs. Please, by all means, give me the referral. I will sign the papers immediately.”
Caedmon sighed, aware his life was once again being changed and was being decided by forces outside his control. He wondered when he would have some input to his life.
*
Filling out the paperwork for the new “school” should have taken a few days, though Aunt Beth worked on it in every spare second she found.
Uncle Rodney mentioned a few times that he was still not convinced they were doing what was best for the boy, but he wasn’t one to second-guess his wife in such matters, so he remained quiet after Beth shot him down. He hadn’t completely stepped into the fatherhood role, having never been a father himself.
Caedmon accepted his lot for the time being. He was a freak, so it was time to go live with other freaks. Maybe his new life wouldn’t be all that bad anyway. At least he would be away from Aunt Beth. Uncle Rodney he could tolerate, but the child couldn’t get Uncle Rodney without getting Aunt Beth.
Caedmon was glad for a few last days at school before leaving. He wanted to say goodbye to Ally. Something about her united them, even though no one teased her for being odd or different. He wondered if he could ever speak to her about what he saw in the hallway. If she wound up at a special school with him someday, he wouldn’t be surprised. Ally had a gift for understanding him, as though she had the similar maturity that he had.
On his last day, Caedmon looked for her at recess.
Ally sat on a swing on the playground. She swayed while looking at the ground. She didn’t look up when Caedmon approached her. “So, you’re leaving?”
Caedmon just nodded as he turned his eyes to her feet. Ally was making a figure eight with her toe in the dirt under the swing.
“Why?” She pulled her head back up, long blond ponytail swaying in the breeze.
Caedmon sat down on the swing next to hers. “Because I’m different.”
“We’re all different,” she explained with a tone of defiance. “Do we all need to go to different schools? No. We need to learn to live with each other. You know, you aren’t my first friend to leave. I’m getting a little tired of this. Maybe I need to leave too.”
“Ha. You don’t need to go where I’m going.” Caedmon’s statement was partially a reminder for his own benefit, because nothing would ease his spirit more than knowing Ally would be there with him.
“Why not? Maybe I could use some special services too.” Although she was likely half- kidding, the notion crossed his mind that maybe she was his friend because she understood better than most. Perhaps she was just as crazy as he was.
Because, really, why was this girl such a good friend to him? She was beautiful – tall, thin, blond, smart. Surely, she was the catch of the fourth grade. There would be no reason for her to be seen with a slightly heavy boy with curly reddish-blond hair and a spattering of freckles. If it weren’t for the enormously thick glasses magnifying them, his tiny grey eyes might have been lost behind his chubby cheeks. She either had a great heart, or she was as loony as he was.
He knew he would never find anyone like her again.
*
“Tell me about the accident, Caedmon.”
The new counselor didn’t pull any punches. Most of the others tiptoed around the topic of the accident. Some had never heard Caedmon’s input on the tragedy, other than what they read in the thick file that preceded him to each new appointment. Others tried to set a positive outlook first, making him think he could be happy, before they made him realize that he was not. All of the counselors probably knew that Caedmon wasn’t going to say much about the accident. Why should he? It made all the newspapers, so everyone already knew the story.
Big stories didn’t come along very often in Towson, Vermont. Big stories didn’t often happen in the whole state, he figured. A person would have to go further down to New York for such a bewildering event.
Caedmon wasn’t in Vermont anymore. Aunt Beth was convinced that the best “facilities” were out of state, a fact that she didn’t seem to want to double check. His trust fund covered a quality institution in Massachusetts, and so there he was shipped.
The estate was large and beautiful. Caedmon relaxed a bit to peer just past his new counselor’s head and see out the second story window. This day filled the window with blue skies and a green carpet of grass below. The whole picture spelled freedom to Caedmon, and he liked it. He didn’t know how the counselor could have provided such beautiful backdrop, enticing him to let loose his story, but it worked. Maybe if he said enough, he could be rewarded with a trip outside.
“Caedmon?”
The boy returned from his mental trip outdoors with a jump. “Um, what do you want to know?”
He was vaguely aware that those could have been the first words he had spoken at all since arriving. He had been in the institution less than a week and didn’t have a good read on the people there yet. Everyone seemed very nice, but he couldn’t tell if their gentility was something that would last or if it were just a pretense. By now, he could usually tell.
“Whatever you would like to tell me. Start with when it happened. How old were you?” The new counselor – Caedmon hadn’t taken the time to learn his name yet – sat back in his comfortable-looking leather chair. Surprisingly, he didn’t hold a pen or paper.
Perhaps he might actually listen. Perhaps he might actually focus on Caedmon and not his problems.
“Ten.” Caedmon had learned that to protect himself, he had to not let too much information leak out.
“Aren’t you ten now?” probed the counselor with a soft voice and a slightly concerned look.
“Mm hmm,” the boy confirmed, still guarding any enhancing information.
“So this was a recent event for you, Caedmon?”
“It was last spring, you know, during those April showers that were supposed to bring May flowers? Boy, did the May flowers come this year.” His protective walls chipped a bit.
“Do you mean at the funeral?”
“Yes.” The mention of that day quickly built back the stone around his heart. It was too soon to call that memory back.
The counselor, just like all the others, wasn’t interested in the funeral. He dove straight in to the exciting stuff. “Caedmon, how do you feel when you revisit that night, the night of the accident?”
Even knowing it wouldn’t be helpful to himself or the counselor, Caedmon released the plain old boring truth. “I don’t.”
“You don’t feel anything, or you don’t revisit it?”
“I don’t think about it.” Caedmon spoke as nonchalantly as the counselor. Perhaps he would match the analysis of the counselor with a puzzle no one couldn’t solve.
“Why not?”
Quickly the boy answered, “It’s over. It’s done. I can’t change it, so why go there?”
“Do you think it would be helpful for you to get those feelings out?” The counselor looked a bit sad as though the real tragedy was the boy’s unwillingness to relive the accident.
“No.”
by T.C. Slonaker
Chapter 1:
Most people would find the steady rain falling outside the window in Caedmon Bancroft’s classroom soothing, but the sight of so much water turned the little boy’s insides to a jumbled mess of spaghetti. When the teacher turned out the light to start a special movie for the class, the entrapped spaghetti spilled out of his mouth and all over the back of the little girl sitting in front of him. Only, it smelled much worse than spaghetti.
Again, as before, the teacher simply pointed to the door, the signal sending the boy to the guidance counselor’s office, as if the counselor would have an answer for him this time.
Before he left, Caedmon stole a glance at the roomful of children staring and giggling. Acting as their source of constant entertainment was nothing new. The last face he saw as he walked out the door was the sympathetic expression of his only friend, Ally.
*
Caedmon’s trip to the counselor took a good deal longer than usual. Meandering without urgency, he took the longest way around the school that he could find, peeking into all the rooms along the way. Kids were busy learning, focused on their teacher and lessons. Why couldn’t he just focus like they did?
Why couldn’t his mind get past the accident and move on?
“Hey, look.”
Caedmon halted but didn’t turn. He closed his eyes in the briefest of prayers that he might be left alone and unseen. Was the rest of that sentence going be, “That’s some amazing artwork on the wall?”
The voice wasn’t familiar to him, but the mocking tone of it was his everyday problem. In the schools he attended previously, there had been others. Different places provided different voices, but always the same tone, laughing without laughter, teasing without harassment. He hadn’t been in this school long enough yet to identify the bullies, but it didn’t take them long to find him. Bullies were drawn to him.
Another voice joined the first, “Yeah, it’s that fourth grader who’s afraid of the rain. Monsters swim, you know.”
As the pair broke out in laughter, Caedmon’s shoulders drooped forward. He hadn’t been missed; their radar hit the bull’s eye dead on.
The second voice was one he knew. It belonged to Brad Harkins, a fifth grader who sat with him on the school bus when “spaghetti stomach” hit that first rainy day at his new school. Brad would never let it pass.
Begging was an option not beneath Caedmon’s dignity, especially if it saved him from physical torment. “Listen, guys, just let me go, okay?”
“Oh sure, Weirdman. We’ll let you go.”
Not immediately recognizing the sarcasm, Caedmon turned to make sure they were going to walk away. Just as he did, he heard Brad finish his sentence.
“Go for a swim, that is.”
Brad wasn’t behind him, where Caedmon heard his voice a minute ago. His eyes nervously darted around to locate his tormentors. The quick sound of a faucet preceded a splash of water that the boys used to attack Caedmon’s face. Opening his dampened eyes, he saw the others standing by the water fountain just to his right.
The fifth graders continued to taunt. “Aaa, run! The Boogey Man is in the water!”
He heard more laughter. Caedmon removed his glasses to dry them with his shirt. He didn’t want to admit to the boys how much the sudden splash of water really shook him.
“Better go get your mommy,” Brad’s friend whined.
Caedmon’s fear was swallowed by defensive anger. Mother jokes came too soon, and although Brad probably didn’t know that, he would pay for it. Caedmon didn’t know how, but he had to do something. He could stand by and take whatever punishment was dished out to him, but no one could mess with his mom.
“You children will not bring the end to this boy.”
Even though the words came from Caedmon’s mouth, he was just as surprised as the others in the hallway. The thought behind the words was Caedmon’s sentiment, but the words were not his. Caedmon’s vision was blurred. The silhouettes of the bullies in front of him were nothing but shadows because behind them Caedmon saw an obscure, bluish light. The light pulsed with each syllable spoken by the ethereal voice that came out of Caedmon’s mouth.
When the light dimmed, he saw alarm on the other boys’ faces. The authority in the strange voice, however, comforted Caedmon. Although he couldn’t identify the speaker for the indistinct tonality of the voice, the words that echoed in his head, sounded like the voice of his mother.
Unless… Could it have really been his mom speaking? Caedmon knew better. It couldn’t be. Right?
Once the older boys regained movement in their leg muscles, they tripped over each other slipping across the wet floor to get away from the boy who had just become that much stranger.
Behind where they had stood in the middle of the hallway, her long hair flying in a breeze that was caused by the hasty exit of the fifth graders, and not displaying a trace of surprise, was Ally. She turned and walked back to her classroom, as though nothing had happened.
*
The nurse’s office was the first room in the next hallway. The teacher used to send him there every time he got sick in class. The nurse would let him lie down on a mustard-colored vinyl couch in a dark, quiet room. He didn’t mind the rest and solitude.
Those quiet times ended quickly when the nurse decided there wasn’t anything physically wrong with Caedmon. The weight of the ten-year-old was slightly disproportionate to his average height, but his heaviness wasn’t the source of his issues. Nor did the problem root itself in his near-sightedness.
The teacher began to send him next door to the counselor’s office, the door Caedmon now faced. He debated whether or not to discuss the recent bully event with the counselor, but, as usual, logic won. She would never believe him, so there was no good reason to bring it up.
He turned the doorknob, ready to fall into the chair and have another pointless discussion with Mrs. Rich. This time, what he found in the office was different.
Aunt Beth and Uncle Rodney were there, waiting rigidly in their seats.
“Have a seat, Caedmon,” Mrs. Rich advised the boy.
Although the counselor looked at him, his aunt and uncle guardians continued to stare straight ahead in the direction of Mrs. Rich.
The only available chair awaited him right next to Aunt Beth, though it was the last place he had any desire to be. The room was uninviting enough, full of dark, wooden bookshelves, filled to spilling over with books and binders. Even stacks of books on the floor waited their turn for a prominent place on a shelf, though it would likely be a while. The window was almost completely blocked by stacks of manila file folders, adding to the darkness of the room. The files wouldn’t fit in the only small grey file cabinet by the door and seemed to be the outcasts from those sitting on top of the cabinet. Given the overcrowding of paper in the room, Mrs. Rich’s large desk seemed an out of place piece of furniture behind which to hide, but there she sat, unapologetically, waiting for Caedmon to take his seat.
Deciding it wasn’t the time to begin a power tug, the boy complied and sat under the heavy glare of Aunt Beth, who decided to turn her attention to him.
“This was not convenient today, Caedmon.” Aunt Beth added weight to her stare with her words. “It is not easy for your uncle and me to just walk out of our jobs for a chat about someone who is not even our own child.”
Aunt Beth never seemed to miss the chance to remind Caedmon that she wasn’t his mother, as if he could ever make that mistake himself. Living in her family had never been his choice, nor was it hers. Through her words and constant reminders, she tried to excommunicate him from their family.
Mrs. Rich stepped in. “And, I do appreciate your making it down here, sloppy as it is outside, Mr. and Mrs. Harper.”
“Doesn’t bother me none,” chipped in Uncle Rodney, who worked in construction. “I didn’t have any work today.”
With Aunt Beth as refined as she put on to be, in a red suit starched and straight, and even her short blond hair straight and nearly perfect, Uncle Rodney seemed to be an unlikely match for her. His jeans and blue flannel shirt matched his more relaxed and comfortable demeanor.
Caedmon just figured Aunt Beth had needed someone who didn’t have much to say and wouldn’t interrupt her often. Uncle Rodney completed that bill fairly.
Beth threw a disapproving look his way, letting Rodney know he wasn’t to make their visit any easier on the boy. Another thing she must have seen in Rodney was his easy-to-control mindset.
Mrs. Rich continued, “Well anyway, I thank you. This is a matter of some importance, so I will come directly to the point. I think we have done all we can for Caedmon at this juncture. Our services have not improved his behavior, as demonstrated by today’s outburst. It may be time for you to consider another facility for him.”
The counselor straightened and re-stacked some papers on her desk to show that the matter had been given much consideration on the part of the school, though actually the decision had been made a few weeks prior, as she had hinted to Caedmon during a recent visit. Because his was such a sensitive case, the school had to prolong advancement to make it appear that they had used all their resources, but truly, no one there knew how to help the boy.
“Are you kicking him out?” Beth feigned insult by clutching at her chest, though she had already made it clear her responsibility for Caedmon was limited. Her anticipated over-reaction was another reason the school probably had drug their feet.
“No, of course not. I just don’t think our services are enough to benefit your son.” Mrs. Rich stayed as professional as she could.
Beth’s answer came automatically again. “He is not our son.”
“Oh, yes, forgive me.”
“I don’t have any parents,” Caedmon added sadly. He could have said it for their benefit, but really, he needed to remind himself of the fact again. Would reality ever sink in?
“Everyone here is aware of your poor, pathetic plight, Caedmon. We don’t need your commentary,” admonished Aunt Beth.
“What is our next step, then?” asked Uncle Rodney, moving the conversation along.
“Home schooling is an option, with regular therapist visits.”
The noise Beth made could have been either a laugh or a choked cough with the idea of quitting her job and staying at home all day with her nephew, so Rodney continued for his wife, “You don’t think he would benefit from other kids being around?”
“No, children can be cruel, and I think he will only become the butt of everyone’s jokes. Many children are already reacting to his... strange... behavior. However, you could try an institution where he would blend in with other children who have…” Mrs. Rich glanced at Caedmon for a second, as if just noticing he was there in the room, and wishing to not offend him, “similar issues.”
“You mean like a funny farm?” asked Uncle Rodney, with a little offense on behalf of his nephew.
Aunt Beth’s eyes lit up in intrigue at the sight of her escape. “This would be a facility with twenty-four-hour care, wouldn’t it? He would have to live there, right?”
The counselor nodded.
“Well, maybe that is exactly what the boy needs. Please, by all means, give me the referral. I will sign the papers immediately.”
Caedmon sighed, aware his life was once again being changed and was being decided by forces outside his control. He wondered when he would have some input to his life.
*
Filling out the paperwork for the new “school” should have taken a few days, though Aunt Beth worked on it in every spare second she found.
Uncle Rodney mentioned a few times that he was still not convinced they were doing what was best for the boy, but he wasn’t one to second-guess his wife in such matters, so he remained quiet after Beth shot him down. He hadn’t completely stepped into the fatherhood role, having never been a father himself.
Caedmon accepted his lot for the time being. He was a freak, so it was time to go live with other freaks. Maybe his new life wouldn’t be all that bad anyway. At least he would be away from Aunt Beth. Uncle Rodney he could tolerate, but the child couldn’t get Uncle Rodney without getting Aunt Beth.
Caedmon was glad for a few last days at school before leaving. He wanted to say goodbye to Ally. Something about her united them, even though no one teased her for being odd or different. He wondered if he could ever speak to her about what he saw in the hallway. If she wound up at a special school with him someday, he wouldn’t be surprised. Ally had a gift for understanding him, as though she had the similar maturity that he had.
On his last day, Caedmon looked for her at recess.
Ally sat on a swing on the playground. She swayed while looking at the ground. She didn’t look up when Caedmon approached her. “So, you’re leaving?”
Caedmon just nodded as he turned his eyes to her feet. Ally was making a figure eight with her toe in the dirt under the swing.
“Why?” She pulled her head back up, long blond ponytail swaying in the breeze.
Caedmon sat down on the swing next to hers. “Because I’m different.”
“We’re all different,” she explained with a tone of defiance. “Do we all need to go to different schools? No. We need to learn to live with each other. You know, you aren’t my first friend to leave. I’m getting a little tired of this. Maybe I need to leave too.”
“Ha. You don’t need to go where I’m going.” Caedmon’s statement was partially a reminder for his own benefit, because nothing would ease his spirit more than knowing Ally would be there with him.
“Why not? Maybe I could use some special services too.” Although she was likely half- kidding, the notion crossed his mind that maybe she was his friend because she understood better than most. Perhaps she was just as crazy as he was.
Because, really, why was this girl such a good friend to him? She was beautiful – tall, thin, blond, smart. Surely, she was the catch of the fourth grade. There would be no reason for her to be seen with a slightly heavy boy with curly reddish-blond hair and a spattering of freckles. If it weren’t for the enormously thick glasses magnifying them, his tiny grey eyes might have been lost behind his chubby cheeks. She either had a great heart, or she was as loony as he was.
He knew he would never find anyone like her again.
*
“Tell me about the accident, Caedmon.”
The new counselor didn’t pull any punches. Most of the others tiptoed around the topic of the accident. Some had never heard Caedmon’s input on the tragedy, other than what they read in the thick file that preceded him to each new appointment. Others tried to set a positive outlook first, making him think he could be happy, before they made him realize that he was not. All of the counselors probably knew that Caedmon wasn’t going to say much about the accident. Why should he? It made all the newspapers, so everyone already knew the story.
Big stories didn’t come along very often in Towson, Vermont. Big stories didn’t often happen in the whole state, he figured. A person would have to go further down to New York for such a bewildering event.
Caedmon wasn’t in Vermont anymore. Aunt Beth was convinced that the best “facilities” were out of state, a fact that she didn’t seem to want to double check. His trust fund covered a quality institution in Massachusetts, and so there he was shipped.
The estate was large and beautiful. Caedmon relaxed a bit to peer just past his new counselor’s head and see out the second story window. This day filled the window with blue skies and a green carpet of grass below. The whole picture spelled freedom to Caedmon, and he liked it. He didn’t know how the counselor could have provided such beautiful backdrop, enticing him to let loose his story, but it worked. Maybe if he said enough, he could be rewarded with a trip outside.
“Caedmon?”
The boy returned from his mental trip outdoors with a jump. “Um, what do you want to know?”
He was vaguely aware that those could have been the first words he had spoken at all since arriving. He had been in the institution less than a week and didn’t have a good read on the people there yet. Everyone seemed very nice, but he couldn’t tell if their gentility was something that would last or if it were just a pretense. By now, he could usually tell.
“Whatever you would like to tell me. Start with when it happened. How old were you?” The new counselor – Caedmon hadn’t taken the time to learn his name yet – sat back in his comfortable-looking leather chair. Surprisingly, he didn’t hold a pen or paper.
Perhaps he might actually listen. Perhaps he might actually focus on Caedmon and not his problems.
“Ten.” Caedmon had learned that to protect himself, he had to not let too much information leak out.
“Aren’t you ten now?” probed the counselor with a soft voice and a slightly concerned look.
“Mm hmm,” the boy confirmed, still guarding any enhancing information.
“So this was a recent event for you, Caedmon?”
“It was last spring, you know, during those April showers that were supposed to bring May flowers? Boy, did the May flowers come this year.” His protective walls chipped a bit.
“Do you mean at the funeral?”
“Yes.” The mention of that day quickly built back the stone around his heart. It was too soon to call that memory back.
The counselor, just like all the others, wasn’t interested in the funeral. He dove straight in to the exciting stuff. “Caedmon, how do you feel when you revisit that night, the night of the accident?”
Even knowing it wouldn’t be helpful to himself or the counselor, Caedmon released the plain old boring truth. “I don’t.”
“You don’t feel anything, or you don’t revisit it?”
“I don’t think about it.” Caedmon spoke as nonchalantly as the counselor. Perhaps he would match the analysis of the counselor with a puzzle no one couldn’t solve.
“Why not?”
Quickly the boy answered, “It’s over. It’s done. I can’t change it, so why go there?”
“Do you think it would be helpful for you to get those feelings out?” The counselor looked a bit sad as though the real tragedy was the boy’s unwillingness to relive the accident.
“No.”