Kevin (Short Story)

N

  By

  Matthew Holley

  Copyright 2011

  "Tina, why are you crying?" Angela asked the little blond-headed eighth-grader sitting in her office.

  "I don't know," Tina sobbed as she tried to regain her composure. Angela handed her a tissue. She could tell Tina was embarrassed for suddenly becoming overwhelmed by her emotions so she gave the young girl a look of sympathy. This wasn't the first child to start crying in her office.

  "Tina, you can talk to me. I'm your guidance counselor and anything you tell me will not go beyond these walls."

  Trying to talk through her sobs, Tina managed to say," My parents?they're going' to kill me."

  "Why are your parents going to kill you, Tina?"

  Very softly, Tina replied," I missed my period."

  "And you think you're pregnant?"

  Tina nodded her head.

  "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean you're pregnant. How long has it been since your last period?"

  "Six weeks."

  "Still, you might just be going through an irregular period. You should take a home pregnancy test before you get too upset. But, first, I think you need to let your parents know what's going on."

  "No, I can't! They would freak out. I'll do the test on my own and if I'm pregnant? Jason is going to pay for an abortion!"

  "Oh child, don't be so hasty in your decision. You're only a kid. You need to discuss this with your parents. Besides, no hospital will give you an abortion without your parent's signature. You need to tell them what's going on."

  Angela could see that Tina was becoming frustrated.

  "No, I don't! I can make my own decision! I don't even know why I told you. You couldn't possibly understand what I'm going through. I'll handle this myself!"

  Tina stormed out of the room.

  Angela sighed loudly and began thinking of her daughter.

  The school bell rang to announce that recess was over. Angela left her office and headed for the teacher's lounge to buy a soda from one of the vending machines while all the students were heading for their classrooms.

  After purchasing a diet soda, Angela decided to make her way to the elementary side of the school where her daughter attended class. Her daughter, Teresa, who just turned six, looked like her mother, with dark, brunette hair and the same almond-shaped green eyes. It was Teresa's first year attending school and Angela felt a need to check on her several times an hour. Besides her parents, who lived a several hours away, Teresa was all Angela had in the world since her husband's tragic car wreck.

  After watching her daughter for nearly ten minutes through the small glass window in the kindergarten classroom door, Angela decided she best get back to her office before the principal had her fired for not performing her duties. As she was passing an exit door which led to the playground outside, Angela noticed a small dark- haired boy sitting on one of the swings. She knew all the children should be in their classes, so she walked outside to him.

  The young boy looked to be about eight years old with dark brown hair. He was drawing in a sketch pad that was propped up on his knees when Angela approached him.

  "Shouldn't you be in class?" Angela asked.

  The boy said nothing and kept drawing. Angela sat in the swing next to him.

  "What are you drawing?"

  Without looking up, he said," This is where I live."

  Angela looked at the drawing. It was a picture in crayon of a little boy in a field of green, standing beside a lake of blue. A small house was drawn in the background. The number thirty nine was written in black across the sky. The little boy was alone in the picture and he wore a prominent frown.

  "That's a beautiful picture. Who is this?" Angela pointed at the sad looking child in the drawing.

  "That's me," the little boy said somberly.

  "You? But you look so sad?"

  "I don't like being alone."

  "Why are you alone?"

  The boy said nothing but continued added his finishing touches to his picture.

  "Is this your home? Do you live here?

  "No, this is where I was sent."

  "Who sent you here?"

  The boy did not answer.

  Just then, Angela noticed Mr. Henry, the school janitor, walking across the playground and into the maintenance building. He was looking her way the whole time with a disapproving look upon his face.

  The boy tore the drawing from the sketch pad and handed it to Angela.

  "Here, I want you to have this."

  The little boy looked up, for the first time since Angela had sat next to him, with the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen, but they were filled with animosity.

  "Thank you, so much. It's beautiful."

  Angela looked up and observed Mr. Henry standing in the doorway of the maintenance building. He still had a perturbed look on his face as he glared her way. She put the drawing inside her purse.

  "Wait right here. I'll be right back," she told the little boy.

  Angela walked up to the grey-haired Mr. Henry who was wearing blue over-alls and a plaid, long-sleeved shirt?the only outfit she had ever seen him in.

  "Why the face, Mr. Henry? What's wrong?"

  "Miss Lancer, I try to stay out of everyone's business as much as I can, but when it comes to the safety of these children, I must butt in."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Whatever medication you're taking or drugs you're on, you don't need to be using them while at this school."

  "What are you talking about?" Angela asked in concerned surprise. She had never had anyone accuse her of doing drugs. "I don't do drugs and I'm not on any kind of medication! Why would you say such a thing?"

  "Miss Lancer," Mr. Henry accusatorily said. "I have been watching you for ten minutes sitting on that swing over yonder acting like you're talking to someone when there's obviously no one there."

  Angela turned around towards the little boy on the swing, but she saw only an empty playground.

  "I was talking to a little boy when you walked by. You had to have seen him."

  "Miss Lancer, there was no one sitting by you when I passed by. You were talking to yourself."

  A chill ran down Angela's back. She knew she was talking to a young dark-haired boy, but didn't understand how Mr. Henry didn't see him. She quickly reached inside her purse and retrieved the drawing the little boy gave her.

  "Look, he drew this and gave it to me."

  "Nice drawing. Did your daughter draw this?"

  "No" Angela was getting noticeably upset. ", the boy sitting on the swing gave it to me a few seconds ago."

  "Miss Lancer, there's been no one sitting next to you since I've been out here." Mr. Henry could see how upset Angela was getting and tried to calm her down. "Perhaps he left before I came outside. I'm an old man. Perhaps I was mistaken at what I observed."

  "But, I saw you looking at us when---"

  "Miss Lancer, I've really got to get back to work. Now, I won't mention this to anyone but I'm going to keep my eye on you."

  Mr. Henry walked away leaving Angela feeling confused and a little frightened.

  When the last bell rang to announce school was over, Angela was already waiting outside of her daughter's class room. The door opened and all the children inside started pouring out. Teresa broke into a huge smile when she saw her mother standing at the door.

  "How was school?" Angela asked. "Did you have fun?"

  "I made this for you."

  Teresa handed her mother a card made from red poster board with "I Love You, Mom" written all over it. Angela picked her daughter up.

  "This is for me? It's so beautiful! I love you, too!"

  She kissed Teresa all over her face, caus
ing the little girl to erupt in giggles.

  "Are you ready to get out of here? Let's go home."

  "Okay."

  Later that afternoon, Angela was standing in her kitchen, slicing potatoes for dinner and looking out the window watching Teresa play in the back yard. Their house was built in the middle of a cornfield that her husband had once worked. Now, she had to hire farmers to plant and harvest the corn because she needed the extra income. Guidance counselors don't warrant a huge salary.

  The pre-heat timer sounded on the oven. Angela placed her sliced potatoes on a cooking pan and slid them inside the oven. She jumped when she turned around and looked back out of the window to find Teresa wasn't alone. Angela could see her daughter talking to someone near the edge of the corn?someone who stayed just inside the stalks, obscuring her view of the stranger.

  Angela quickly rushed outside. When she got to her daughter, the stranger was gone.

  "Who were you talking to?"

  "My friend. He's nice?

  "Your friend? Who is he? Where did he come from? Where did he go?"

  "I don't know."

  "How long have you known him?"

  "Not too long."

  "Where does your friend live?"

  "He says he lives here."

  Angela's heart stopped when her daughter handed her a crayon drawing just like the one the young boy on the swing had given her. The number thirty nine was still depicted prominently in the sky.

  "He gave this to you?"

  "Yes"

  "Was your friend a little boy about your age with dark brown hair and green eyes?"

  "Yes"

  "Did he tell you what his name was?"

  "Kevin."

  The same familiar chill returned as before and ran down the length of Angela's body.

  "I don't want you talking to him anymore."

  "Why, he's my friend."

  Angela couldn't tell her daughter why she