Alfer Centurie’s favorite moon hung low over the horizon. He strolled sleepily along the lake. He was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well anticipating the arrival of Sasifraz and spent a lot of his free time pondering the problem.
The moon was so beautiful, and the stars shimmered as vibrant points of light. He looked to the stars for answers. He had always since he was a small child. He felt there were no answers that could evade the scrutiny of a star. He wished he could be one.
He imagined himself hanging there quietly in the sky being one of the most powerful things in the universe. With power like that, Sasifraz would be less than a microbe. A thought he relished and looked forward to manifesting.
* * * * * * *
(1987)
The adult me looked at my arm. The scars were all my skin color now standing out as dozens of lines along the length of my arm. I loved my scars. It was something I would admit to few people. I would never wish them away. They were the symbols of what I’d been through. How bad things could get and I could still survive.
Sometimes, when I remembered my anger, I wanted to add more to those scars. For a night or two, I’d feel compelled but then the feeling would go as silently as it had arrived. I hoped that someday the feeling would never return.
I stroked my arm gently wishing to put that hurt to rest, to put those feelings permanently in my past.
* * * * * * *
One glowing ball of light said to another glowing ball of light, “So, what happened?”
“When?”
“After you ran away.”
“Oh, it went something like this…”
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Being an intelligent teenager, I had a plan. Several months earlier, Kantor had suggested that if I should ever leave my mother I should call her right away. (Was that a hint?) Now, I made my way straight for the nearest phone booth and dialed Kantor’s number.
It turned out that Kantor had a plan as well. She told me to call the local police department, ask them to take me to the youth center, and they would. I envisioned it as a kind of amnesty/sanctuary request and said I would. After all, I had no one to trust but Kantor.
I called the local police officers to come get me and they did. However, they insisted on taking me to the local police station. Having, so to speak, already “surrendered,” I felt compelled to go with them. (I think that thought was probably encouraged by the police officers.)
The two of them took me to the local station where one officer and a youth officer named Gable (not Clark) began to grill me about who I was.
“What’s your name?” the police officer named McDonald asked.
“I’m not going to tell you until you tell me where you’re going to take me,” I responded.
“Are you from the mid-west?”
“What? What gave you that idea?”
“You speak with a thick tongue.” I was nervous and dry mouthed, as well as, born and bred in the Pacific Northwest. I marveled at his detective prowess.
“What made you run away?” Gable, a sleepy looking woman, asked moving to another line of questioning. I thought under better circumstances I might actually like Gable.
“My mother.” With that, I launched into a statement about what had been happening with me, including arm cutting, thinking that might help them to understand the gravity of the situation.
Gable’s response was to ask me where I got a wild story like that and what book I’d been reading. I felt like I might have just fallen into an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole. McDonald’s response was to ask me what my name was for the eighth or ninth time.
The three of us arrived at a neatly worded stalemate. Gable and McDonald unwilling to take me to the youth center. I unwilling to give my name until they told me where they would take me.
Finally, after several circular discussions, Gable came out with the solution to meet with me and my mother to sort the situation out. Her desire was to have me picked up by my mother and the two of us return the following morning at nine to meet with Gable. (Gable must have been a day person.)
Sensing it was time to compromise, although absolutely unwilling to go back home that night (or any other), I forked over my name and phone number.
* * * * * * *
McDonald came out of Gable’s office to tell me my mother was on the way. “She also said she’d call her father who lives across the ally,” he commented with a quizzical look.
I had neglected to mention that my grandparents lived behind the police station, and I could, in fact, see their bedroom window even as he spoke. I calmly informed McDonald who now took on a more respectful note. “Your grandfather is Joe Stockdale?” My grandfather was a fairly well known local businessman.
“Yes, and my grandmother is Lucille Stockdale. I was named after them. Joe and Lucille to make Joceile.”
While they waited, McDonald softened up and asked me some pretty friendly questions for a change and shared a little of his life. I was grateful for the company. My nerves were frazzled waiting for the arrival of my mother.
* * * * * * *
It didn’t take long. My mother arrived. I felt cold steel around my chest. My mother didn’t even look at me but followed McDonald’s motion to Gable’s office.
Shortly after, my grandparents arrived and kept me company. They gave me nervous glances not knowing quite how to respond to the situation.
Loud voices came from Gable’s office. We could hear my mother and Gable arguing. After that, my mother emerged from the office, her face set, and left without a look or word in my direction. I felt a stab of pain in my heart but knew there was no turning back.
Gable came out and apologized. She said she couldn’t imagine how she had gotten out of control like that. She said it had never happened before. But I knew that given a chance, my mother had, fortunately, chosen this moment to show her worst side.
Gable suggested I stay with my grandparents that night. I had spent a lot of time with them and felt safe. Together, we crossed the alley. My grandmother put me to bed in an upstairs bedroom.
At five in the morning, I settled in for a couple hours of sleep before school. I looked at the ceiling and began crying. The first in a long time. I cried at the loss of my mother that night as well as the many years before. I cried until I thought my heart would break. I didn’t stop before the sky lightened with the dawn.