I wrote a fictional story for my daughter during the time of separation for our family. Over the winter that year, I was allowed a weekly phone call; which eventually consisted of hours of video chatting — including; mostly absolute nonsense and filter-switching, but enjoyable nonetheless. I read each chapter to Anna (age 8) over a period of some weeks. This is that story…
– For my daughter; Anna Estelle; Be someone’s hope.
- 🔊41: “A Life Worth Living,” chapter 2
- 🔊45: “A Life Worth Living,” chapter 3
- 🔊49: “A Life Worth Living,” chapter 4
- 🔊53: “A Life Worth Living,” chapter 5
- 🔊59: “A Life Worth Living,” chapters 6-7
(See below for the complete book.)
Chapter 1: The Carpool
When I said, “Slug-bug!”, the whole car full of girls turned their heads to see where I pointed. Everyone half-heartedly chuckled, as if to say, “not funny,” when they looked to find out I made it up, but that was when I slipped the note into Sandy’s bag.
It wasn’t a long trip to school each morning, but it was uncomfortable to say the least. At least this morning, it was. Angie and Lexi laughed and joked to each other loudly, and rudely, but I could see that Sandy was not enjoying herself, at all.
I was not enjoying myself, either.
It was the third day of school, and the other kids said that 4th grade was harder, because the 5th graders always got the best of everything, and Mrs. Grishom — my homeroom teacher — expected more of the 4th graders than any other teacher in school. Mrs. Grishom was also my car-pool driver.
Lexi was her daughter; and sheee was perrrrffect.
Angie always sat behind Mrs. Grishom in the car so she could make ugly faces back and forth with Lexi, who sat in the front. Mrs. Grishom couldn’t see Angie and she didn’t see Lexi.
Lexi’s Mom was the type of mom who made sure all the other kids followed all the rules, but seemed to be oblivious to her own daughter’s sly way of doing anything she wanted.
And she lived three houses down from me!
Sandy lived in a much different neighborhood, closer to the school. We all knew Lexi hated when we got near her house each morning, and we were sure to hear about it, every day. We would pick Sandy up last. I always heard when the other girls would joke badly about her before she got in. The two girls, Angie and Lexi, had been best friends for four years, but Sandy had transferred to our school very late in the year, last year. She never really made a good impression on them and they’ve treated her horribly, ever since. You would not believe the rumors that were stirred up in just a couple of months;
“I heard her dad is an alcoholic.”
“I heard she has three moms…”
“I heard her family lived in a dumpster in the train yard,” one group I passed had speculated.
“She was probably born in a dumpster…” they all laughed.
Sandy did not often say much, and she had always been kind to me. She was ten years old. We talked a little on the first day of the year and I learned she had three older sisters, but they are all much older than her and, they all had moved out of her house when she was almost too young to remember. Only one of her sisters, really, kept in contact with her and Sandy said they were very best friends, despite her being fifteen years younger.
The rest of the trip to school that morning was quiet. Aside from a few disparaging giggles and rude gestures from Lexi to Angie, the car was silent. Between the low volume of the news program on Mrs. Grishom’s radio, and the hum of the tires on the pavement down the highway, I could sense, though, the concert of struggle going on in Sandy’s head.
The world was not peaceful for Sandy today.
When we got out of the car at school, her backpack, made from cheap material –worn from last year’s use — snagged on the car door. It did not take much, and the entire bag tore from top to bottom, and all the contents fell out into the street.
I froze; stunned, watching Sandy’s face cringe in a panic, holding back a flood of tears with what appeared to be all her might. She hurriedly gathered all the books and papers and ran toward the entrance of the school and by the time I gathered enough of my own heart to respond to the disaster, she had already disappeared into the building.
As I stood motionless — Lexi and Angie, enjoying Sandy’s embarrassment, laughing as they, too, headed into school with Mrs. Grishom in tow, warning to,”get moving or you’ll be late” — and I noticed the note that I slipped into Sandy’s bag was still lying on the pavement.
“Who brings a Bible to school, anyway??” I could faintly hear Angie’s voice trail off as the door closed behind them.
I bent over to pick up the note and shove it gently, into my pocket, with hopes to sneak it, again, to Sandy; then I noticed the three police cars pulling into the parking lot, being followed by the Sheriff and I hurried into school.
Have a wonderful week folks.
God bless you.
Click the button here for all 7 chapters of the fictional story;
“A Life Worth Living”
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