The Chosen One

by Marla Meyers

  “What was wrong with him?” Becka asked Tara, who was still staring down the road ahead of them.

  “His heart didn’t work right,” Tara answered, finally turning to face Becka, and smiling.

  “Are there more?” Becka asked, “more children?”

  Tara smiled “Oh, yes. There are more.”

  Then Tara started walking down the road. Becka walked beside her. Becka looked back, past the car, to see the woman and boy still skipping down the road, laughing.

  Then Tara looked over at Becka. “He will be President someday.”

  “Of the United States?” Becka asked, arching her eyebrows, and struggling to keep up with Tara’s quickening pace.

  “A very good President,” Tara said, nodding in agreement, as they continued to walk.

  They walked a quarter of a mile or so, when they came upon a twelve-year-old girl, walking alone. When the girl heard footsteps behind her, she stopped and turned around.

  Tara knelt down in front of her, and said, “Hello.”

  The girl stared at Tara and didn’t say anything.

  Tara grabbed both her hands, then hugged her.

  Becka watched, feeling a warmth she had never felt, as the girl turned and also headed back in the other direction, saying softly, “Thank you”. Tara and Becka walked forward.

  “What about her?” Becka asked, no longer feeling tired, as she walked along side Tara.

  “She couldn’t speak,” Tara said. “And she will need to speak, to teach. She will teach children to read lots and lots of children in other countries.”

  Tara and Becka continued to walk, running into child after child, each with some special gift or purpose in life. Each one of them needing for Tara to touch them. Becka was witnessing miracle after miracle, she knew. It was unbelievable what was happening. Still, she wondered why Marissa had been taken from them why Tara had not been able to make her own Mother well.

  The farm gate was in sight. Tara was walking faster, but Becka stayed right beside her.

  “There are lots, Becka lots and lots,” Tara beamed.

  Becka felt like she was walking on air, in a cloud of magic, like in a dream. Oh, how she wished Marissa was with them, to see her daughter…their angel from God, making all these children well.

  Tara’s face was aglow, as they reached the farm gate. An elderly gentleman was opening the latch on the gate, as he looked up at Tara.

  “There are hundreds. They have been coming for days. My wife and I have been doing the best we can to make em’ all comfortable…Oh…there are so many, though,” the old man said, shaking his head and looking worried that his efforts had not been enough.

  Tara smiled at him, then ran through the gate. Becka watched her and lagged behind, as the elderly man latched the gate and took a seat in the chair he had sitting beside the gate. He was sipping on a glass of tea. Becka smiled, assuming he had been there for a long time, opening and shutting that gate…and waiting for Tara to get there.

  Becka watched Tara run ahead, smiling. With her jeans and tennis shoes, she looked like any other eighteen-year-old. Her long brown hair, pulled back in a pony tail, bobbed up and down as she ran. She looked like Marissa, Becka thought to herself. Children were running to her, from out of the house, the barn…and from all out in the fields.

  Becka lagged behind further, then sat in the middle of the dirt road that led up to the house. She looked up at the sky. The rainbow seemed to be arched direcdy over the farm. The sun was shining and she knew God was looking down on them. You could feel it everywhere. She watched Tara touching and hugging all the children. People would give their lives, their souls, to witness something like this, she thought to herself. Then, why, God, why was something missing for her, she wondered. Despite, the miracles surrounding her, she missed Marissa and there was something else. She didn’t know what it was right then, but there was something else.

  Tara had found her destiny. Becka knew that life would be calling her in many directions. She wondered what she would do. She missed Marissa. How selfish, she thought to herself. Look at what is happening here.

  She picked herself up and headed down the little road towards the house, children running past her, towards Tara. “I wish you were here, Mel,” she said aloud, and looking up at the clouds, again noticing the rainbow with its bright colors arched over the house. She continued to walk slowly down the road. More and more children were passing, some of them almost running her over to get to Tara. There were so many. The fields were covered. There were parents holding children, children running, children that had come alone. Becka just kept walking.

  Then something caught her eye, far out in the field

  She deterred off the road and began walking out in the field, then running. Something was pulling her out there. She ran faster, kicking her shoes off now. She had to get there. She ran, panting hard. Then she stopped and looked down.

  There, in a small basket, lay a baby girl. She looked about six months old, Becka thought. “Oh precious,” Becka said, scooping up the child, then covering her with the blanket that was in the basket, to protect her from the sun. The baby cooed at Becka, causing her to laugh out loud. “You beautiful child. Where are your parents?” she asked, repositioning the child in her arms and glancing around.

  “Hello!” she called out loudly, wondering how this baby ended up in the middle of the field. “Hello. Hello!” Becka continued to call out, wandering through the fields, holding the baby girl. No answer.

  Becka sat down and cradled the baby in her lap. She was oblivious to all the other children and commotion. She looked down at the child and said softly, “Oh…I wish you were mine,” almost whispering, as if afraid someone would hear her.

  She took the blanket from around the baby, then lifted her up from underneath her arms, high into the air. She had on a beautiful pink dress, Becka noticed. What a beautiful child! She smiled up at the small baby girl, then looked down at her toes all ten of them each painted in a different color!

  Sample of Twisted

  Stella jumped when the front door opened. She barely had enough time to pull her purple afghan over the plate in her lap. Hiding her food had become a necessity lately.

  Jennifer walked into the living room and put her hands on her hips. Stella had told her daughter repeatedly not to stop by on her way home from work. Jennifer had a full time job and a family to feed.

  “Mom, why are you sitting in the dark?”

  Stella nodded at the remote control next to her on the couch. “That thing that you got me to turn the lights on and off doesn’t work, and you told me not to get up unless I absolutely have to.” She wasn’t going to mention that she preferred the dark. Or that she’d been getting up and down all day long. Five trips to the bathroom, a walk to the mailbox, and several trips to the refrigerator in search of food that had the tiniest bit of taste. If it hadn’t been for Joan Higgins two doors down, Stella would have starved to death on the gluten-free food her daughter had provided. It was bad enough that Stella had broken a hip and wasn’t very mobile, but eating food that tasted like cardboard or a sponge made things worse.

  Jennifer picked up the fancy gadget she’d insisted Stella use. It was smaller than a TV remote control. There were ten buttons, five for On and five for Off. Number one controlled the light in the kitchen, the second button turned on the light in the living room, and another one lit up the bathroom. Most of the time, Stella didn’t remember what the other two were for, which probably meant she didn’t need lights in those areas anyway.

  “Maybe the batteries are dead.” Jennifer popped the thing open and pulled out a little battery, much smaller than the one for the television remote. “Hmm . . . I don’t think you have any this size.” She scuttled to the kitchen like there might be a fire, as if being able to turn the lights on and off without getting up was crucial.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jenn.”

  “I don’t understand how the battery is dead already. It hasn’t even be
en a month.” Jennifer shook her head as she stared at the little white remote control.

  Stella shrugged. Maybe my dropping it in the toilet had something to do with it.

  “Well, I’ll get a battery for it and bring it by tomorrow.” Jennifer turned on the light in the living room, using the regular old switch on the wall, even though the light from the TV suited Stella just fine. Then her daughter trekked to all of the designated places and turned on the lights. Ah, the fourth and fifth are for the extra bedroom and guest bathroom. A waste of power since Stella never ventured into either of those rooms. Although, she’d heard movement coming from that direction. Scratching. Like another mouse. She’d trapped three since she moved in.

  Jennifer walked back into the living room with dark circles under her eyes, the price of working nine hours a day, rearing a teenage daughter, and raising her husband as well. Tom was a wonderful man, but he was the poster boy for ‘the older the boy, the bigger the toy’. He collected antique cars, still participated in the occasional drag race, and had reserved seats at several racetracks.

  “I told you that you don’t have to come check on me every day.” Stella loved her only daughter, but ever since she’d fallen and injured her hip, it was role reversal times ten.

  “It’s on my way home.” Jennifer rubbed her forehead. “Is there anything else you need, Mom?”

  Stella sighed. “Yes. I need you to go home, let your family fend for themselves, and you need to soak in a hot bath with a large glass of wine. Speaking of . . .” She raised an eyebrow.

  Jennifer shook her head. “You know wine isn’t on the approved list from your doctor.”

  “I’m old, and I have a busted hip, but I should be able to have a glass of wine every now and then.” Stella folded her hands in her lap, reminded of the ham sandwich on real bread beneath the purple afghan.

  “I just don’t want you getting dizzy and falling.”

  “I already told you. I didn’t get dizzy and fall. The floors shift and move. It’s an old house. I should have bought a newer place, something that wasn’t built in the twenties.” She rolled her eyes. “But, Lord knows, if I had, it probably would have come with all the fancy gadgets you are incorporating into my world.” She glanced at the light remote still in Jennifer’s hands.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. I bought you something.” She raised her finger. “It’s in the car. Be right back.”

  I wish it were wine. Stella forced a smile.

  Jennifer returned carrying a box that looked like it might be shoes. Stella prayed it wasn’t. She still wanted to be able to pick out her own footwear.

  “I bought you a virtual assistant. His name is Alex.” Jennifer beamed, so Stella resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. “It runs off your Internet, and it’s going to be so helpful to you.”

  “I don’t use the Internet. I don’t know why I have it.” She’d never been much good on the laptop that Jennifer had given her. A cousin in Seattle emailed occasionally, but by the time Stella checked the emails, they were outdated, and eventually Lucy had quit sending messages. Stella wrote her a letter, but she didn’t get a response.

  “Well, you will be glad you have the Internet now.” She began to unpack the gift.

  “Alex must be very small to fit in that box. Does he blow up?” Stella chuckled, but Jennifer grimaced.

  “Mother. Please.” She pulled out a black cylinder. It reminded Stella of one of those bank cylinders that shoots deposits to the teller, only Stella couldn’t see through this shape. “Alex is amazing. Check this out.”

  Jennifer plugged in the newest technology that was sure to confuse and intimidate Stella, but she’d go along with it to make her daughter happy.

  The device lit up in varying shades of red, playing a strange sort of music, like it was coming to life.

  Hello, my name is Alex.

  Stella gasped. “He’s British.” Nothing sexier than a British accent.

  “Yes!” Jennifer clapped her hands, clearly elated that she’d done something to please her mother. Stella needed to be more appreciative of her daughter’s efforts, but getting old was hard enough, and Stella wasn’t ready to slip into the role that Jennifer seemed to accept for her.

  “Now watch this.” Jennifer placed the new technology on the table beside Stella, who wondered how her ham sandwich was holding up, slathered in mayo on her fully-loaded bread, with a side of forbidden, gluten-laced pretzels on the side.

  “Alex, is it going to rain today?” Jennifer hadn’t been this excited since she’d won the spelling bee in sixth grade, so Stella smiled, even though she’d already read in the newspaper that it wasn’t going to rain. The newspaper that she’d walked all the way to the curb to get this morning, without incident.

  There is no rain expected in Houston today.

  “You know, I do watch the news. Not that I don’t appreciate this new gadget, but I try to be prepared if a storm is coming.” Stella smiled, thinking about her sandwich again.

  “Oh, Mom. There’s so much more.” Jennifer’s eyes brightened, and that was enough for Stella to show enthusiasm, so she smiled again and waited.

  “Alex, tell me a joke.” Jennifer sat down next to her mother, and Stella inched the sandwich to her left before the plate touched her daughter’s leg.

  Why did the picture go to jail? Pause. Because it was framed.

  Stella grinned, moderately impressed. Who didn’t enjoy a good joke? “Well, that’s cute.”

  “Mom, I’m just showing you some fun examples, but there is a lot of useful stuff you can ask Alex. And you can even play Jeopardy.”

  Stella sat taller and raised an eyebrow. Now we’re talking. “Really?”

  “Yes. Mom, You’re going to love it. You can get the news, the weather, play games, or ask it anything you want.” Jennifer was glowing, and Stella wondered what this gadget cost. If it was over twenty dollars it was too much.

  “Ask it something.” Jennifer pressed her palms together. Stella wanted to tell her daughter that she should be spending money getting her dark roots done instead of buying Stella virtual assistants that fit inside a tube.

  “Oh, hon, I have no idea what to ask . . .” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Alex.” He lit up at the sound of his name, but went dark when Stella didn’t say anything else.

  “Okay, watch.” Jennifer leaned close to the tube. Maybe Alex was hard of hearing. “Alex, I’d like a recipe for gluten-free lasagna.”

  Stella had decided there was nothing worth eating on this gluten-free diet, but she’d be impressed if Alex could provide an answer.

  The best recipe for gluten-free lasagna comes from letgoofgluten.com. This recipe has a four star rating and can be prepared in one and a half hours.

  “Now, of course you don’t have to do this, but watch.” Jennifer leaned closer to the tube. “Alex, thank you.”

  You’re welcome.

  Stella chuckled. “That’s cute, the way he answers like a real person.”

  Jennifer reached for Stella’s hand. “Mom, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’m going to make life as easy as possible for you.”

  Stella nodded, even though she wanted to tell her daughter that she wasn’t in hospice, didn’t have any terminal ailments, and that she just injured her stupid hip. But Jennifer was a good girl, and it was important to her that Stella was well taken care of. So, if it had to be Alex, then so be it. “I love and appreciate you and this gift.”

  Jennifer kissed her on the cheek. “I gotta go. All your lights are on, but until I get you a battery tomorrow, you’ll have to turn them off by hand.”

  Like in the olden days. Stella smiled. “Okay, hon. I’ll be fine.”

  Jennifer picked up the box that Alex had arrived in, his embryonic sack, of sorts. Shipped to earth like Superman, Stella surmised. Then her daughter reached for her purse, where she’d slung it on the couch.

  “And remember, Mom, you have to always say ‘Alex’ first. So, you’d say, Alex, can you t
ell me the news for today, or Alex, what’s the weather going to be today? Alex is the trigger word.” Jennifer spoke in a whisper so as not to activate him, Stella reckoned.

  “Got it. I’ll walk you to the door.” She waved her daughter off when she opened her mouth to protest. “Yes, I can walk you to the door. It’s not that far.” She stood up. The afghan slid to the floor. And so did the ham sandwich and pretzels. Oops.

  “Mom, really?” Jennifer huffed as she scooped up pretzels from the worn green carpet that someone must have installed in the sixties, then she slapped Stella’s sandwich back together like it had misbehaved and piled it on the plate. “You know you aren’t supposed to have this stuff.”

  Stella eyed her dinner that she had lovingly prepared. You naughty sandwich.

  Jennifer sighed, hung her head for a moment, and looked at Stella. “Where did you get this bread, which is clearly not gluten-free? And these pretzels?” She said pretzels as if they were the devil’s offering. You evil pretzels.

  “I have my sources,” Stella said, without giving her response much thought. But it felt good to flex her independent muscles.

  “Well . . .” Jennifer grinned. “Tell your sources that they are contributing to your declining health if they continue to supply you with things you aren’t supposed to have.”

  “It’s okay, dear. This is the extent of my rule breaking. My source’s husband died from a combination of meanness and alcoholism, so wine isn’t something she will deliver.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Okay, Mom.” She handed her the sandwich. “Eat at your own risk. But you know it’s going to upset your stomach. Sit back down. I’ll let myself out. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Stella eyed the damaged sandwich, ham dangling pitifully over the side, then she looked at her daughter. “I always enjoy your visits, but it’s just not necessary to come every day.” You are mean to my sandwiches.