Long Road Home

A large glop of mud hit the side of the little girl’s face, and her tongue caught the musty taste of the wet soil just before her teeth clenched upon the grit. She wiped the mud away slowly, and her eyes moved from left to right, studying each face in the group of attackers. She had done nothing to provoke this treatment; however, even at her young age of five, she knew she could not physically resist them, so she stood firmly, taking the unwarranted punishment, the jeers, the cruelty. With mud-caked hair, in tattered dress and bare feet, and staring unblinkingly at the others, the little girl squatted down and felt the ground around her, hoping to find a stone big enough to throw and hit at least one of her torturers. But while she was down, the other children began walking in a circle around her, repeatedly chanting her name and telling her to go away. Her piercing eyes watched them all as they each passed in front of her. Still fumbling on the muddy soil around her, her right hand finally found a stone big enough to inflict at least a portion of the pain she felt in her heart. Her fingers enfolded it and she stood. Turning slowly around, she watched and listened to them all and decided that the biggest boy in the circle would be her target. She quickly raised her hand, took aim, and let the rock fly. It sailed, swift and sure, and the child smiled inside when she saw the boy grab his crotch and fall to the ground. As he rolled around and squalled, the others ran to comfort him, and the little girl took the opportunity to escape. Her bare feet were oblivious to the pain that would otherwise have stopped them as they carried her speedily away, through the forest, across the creek, beyond the next meadow, far from the angry shouts. The cruel words and laughter continued inside her head, even though her ears were filled with the rapid pounding of her heart. Her little chest began to heave as razor-like breaths filled her lungs, but she continued running until she entered the forest at the foot of the mountain and finally collapsed in a heap beneath an enormous tree. The rays of sun glinting through between the tree branches tapped her skin, but did not make her feel warm. Gasping for breath, the girl bowed her head, covered her eyes with dirty hands, and cried. It seemed everyone but her knew something about her, something terrible, that made them despise her very existence. I’m so little, she thought. Why do I have such big troubles? She had no mother or father to go home to, but she didn’t know why. She had no place to even call home, except the earth she now sat upon. She didn’t know where her old, ragged dress and undergarment had come from, but she knew she could not wear it much longer. All she wanted was to be where the other children were, to be learning the things they learned, and to join in their play. But it was obvious they did not want her there. The child's sobbing was interrupted when a large shadow fell over her. She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a big, bearded man holding a dead rabbit in one hand and a large knife in the other. The child began to shake violently and closed her eyes. Her tears began again and she at last accepted the fact that she was going to die. With all of the misery in her life at that moment, death did not seem a formidable option. She watched as the man skillfully tied the rabbit's hind feet and fastened the string to his belt. She sat there sobbing, waiting for the darkness of death to wrap itself around her, like a warm blanket. But to her surprise and amazement, she was scooped up from the ground and held by two gentle arms. She opened her eyes and looked at the face of her rescuer. His beard and sun-baked skin seemed rough and somewhat frightening, but then the little girl noticed the gentle smile and the kindness in the big man’s eyes. She was overwhelmed by relief, but as she attempted to smile back at him, exhaustion overtook her, and she fainted against his shoulder. Hattie Gray sat bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath. She rubbed her eyes and swiped at her wrinkled forehead, which was wet with sweat. She then noticed her long, faded flannel gown and her long, stringy, gray hair were also wet. Her sixty-year-old body ached as though she had been running a race and was fully spent. Throwing back the covers, she set her feet on the cold floor. Frowning, she stood and made her way to the cabin door. She yanked it open, went outside, and seated herself on the top step of the porch. The night air was crisp and breezy, and the moon shone brightly. Hattie leaned against the post, and it reminded her of a time, nearly a year before, when a young boy named Raven had sat talking with her about his fears. It was a night much like this one, after a thunderstorm. Hattie looked up at the moon and watched as several small dark clouds passed before it. She welcomed the cool air on her hot, sweaty skin. As she looked away from the moon, she wondered again at what had caused her to awaken so suddenly. Then she remembered. I had a dream. Only, it wasn’t a dream. It was real. It was me. And it was so long ago. Aloud, she continued her thought, “I remember now. I remember everything. What was it they said? Oh, yeah.” Changing her voice to a high-pitched whine, Hattie said, “Hattie Gray, go away! Hattie Gray, go away!” She stood and walked back into the cabin. Still speaking aloud, she added, “Well, Hattie Gray did go away. And she’s a better person for it, too.” In silence, Hattie allowed the floodgates of the long-hidden past to open wide, and she began to reminisce about the kind, gentle man who saved her that day. His name was Titus McGregor, and he proved to be a wonderful friend.