by Glenn Beck
“Eddie, Janice and I came over here last night and spent nearly two hours with your grandparents. They don’t see things quite the same way you do. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s best for you to be here with them right now.”
For a moment I considered bracing my legs against the front seat and refusing to get out of the car. I’d been betrayed. They’d hurt me. I felt as if a knife was working in a circle around my heart, twisting inside my chest and making me want to scream for help. I couldn’t believe the Ashtons and my grandparents had conspired against me. It bruised my pride to think I’d been so stupid that I hadn’t even seen it coming.
I sat in the backseat, angry, empty, confused. My left side was warm from the heater, but the open door sent chills down my arm and leg. My side hurt. My eyes burned. I fought back tears like I’d never fought anything in my life.
Mr. Ashton stood next to me, patiently holding the front passenger seat down so I could get out.
Taylor sat next to me, looking straight down at the floor. I wondered if he had betrayed me too.
A dozen crude, hateful things passed through my mind, but I said none of them. In fact, for the next twenty-four hours, I said nothing at all.
“Eddie, please, just talk to us…” Grandma repeated her speech about how much they loved me and how the Ashtons loved me, too. They were hurt and disappointed, but most of all, they were confused. They couldn’t understand how I could possibly think they’d be happier if I left.
My grandfather seemed a little softer than he had been before I’d left, but he didn’t openly gush, like Grandma. It went unsaid at the time, but Grandpa knew exactly who Stan Ashton really was: the big-city guy that he would’ve made pay to take his wood and windows away.
“Christmas is coming,” he told me later that night, clearly hoping we could put the past where it belonged.
“What do you say we enjoy it and start the new year off with a fresh look at things?”
“Start fresh?” I asked incredulously. Grandpa had unwittingly bent my sadness into pent-up anger that pushed its way into my face, turning it bright red. “Start fresh? Are you going to bring Mom and Dad back to life? Are you going to give me a life like other kids have? Like Taylor has? You think I’m supposed to just forget everything that’s happened?”
“Not forget, Eddie…forgive. You don’t have to move past it, but you do have to move through it. Most of the slop you are wallowing in is of your own making.”
“You keep talking to me like it’s going to make a difference. I’m thirteen years old, and my life is already over.”
My grandmother stepped between us. “Eddie, you’re right. We’re too old to have a teenager, but we’re trying really hard. We’ve seen a lot and we’ve been through a lot. We know that things will get easier—you’ve just got to stick with it for a while.”
I stood and pulled my fist from my jean pockets. “Right.” I mustered as much pain and anger as I possibly could into my gaze. I turned to my grandfather, but my stare was no match for his. “You don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here. Now, thanks to you, my only friend doesn’t want me either.” I spun on my heels and flew into my room, slamming the door so hard that one of Grandma’s pictures fell from the wall in the hallway.
It was a picture of my mother.
Less than a minute later, my door opened again and my grandfather stood there carrying the duffel bag I’d used in my escape. I’d barely been able to drag it along the ground, yet he easily lifted it with one hand, stood it on its end, and rested his palm on it as he faced me.
“Sit down, Eddie.”
I sat on the bed and tilted my head way back to look up at him.
“This nonsense stops tonight. I have dried more of your grandmother’s tears in the last year than in all our other years together—combined. Last night she told me that she wished she had died instead of your mom. You think the world is against you. Even if it were true, it wouldn’t give you an excuse to treat people the way you do. You are here because we’re family. You don’t use family.”
“I don’t have any family,” I snapped back at him. “As far as I’m concerned, my family is dead.”
If we were all God’s children, then I wanted to hurt one of His, just like He had hurt me. The darkness tightened all around me.
The expression on my grandfather’s face completely changed. The number of strained creases stayed the same, but they changed direction as controlled anger turned to deep pain.
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You are everything to us, and you were everything to your parents. Eddie, you choose your own path in life. You’ve had a hard road and there’ve been wrong turns, but you’ll find your way. And we’ll be there to help you at every turn.”
His words were welcome, but they brought me no comfort. In that moment I realized that my stubbornness was more powerful than his kindness. This was going to be the one game that Grandpa was finally going to lose, because now I was the one with the system.
I already knew how this game was going to end.
On Friday I went through all my things, jammed as much as I could into my knapsack, and hid it in the closet. The three of us spent that evening quietly staying out of each other’s way. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, Eddie. You must be at least a little excited,” Grandma said, trying to break the ice over dinner. “The weatherman says it might even finally snow!”
Sure it will, I thought, it never snows here anymore.
I said nothing.
A few hours later, I decided to sneak downstairs to watch television. I didn’t know when I would have another chance to watch Johnny Carson, and, besides, I was too worked up to sleep. As I padded silently across the floor in front of my grandparents’ closed bedroom door, I heard something. It was late for them to be up. I stopped to listen. The muted sounds were like what came from the TV when I had the volume down just a little too far. But it couldn’t have been a television set I was hearing; they had only one.
My grandmother was saying something in between sobs. My grandfather’s voice was kind and soothing. I turned around and went back to my room.
The brass clang of the alarm clock woke me from a deep sleep. It took me a minute to remember where I was and what was going on. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked over at the old windup alarm clock that I’d set for three o’clock. I’d put a sock on top to muffle the sound. I pushed the lever to stop the hammer and got out of bed. While it would have been more dramatic to make a rope out of sheets and escape out the window, I no longer needed drama or a good story to tell my friends. I just needed out.
I took the sweater from the bottom drawer of my dresser and held it up under my chin. It would’ve been a perfect fit now. I put the sweater up against the mirror hanging on the wall, the same mirror that I’d avoided looking into for fear of seeing what I’d become. I tucked it in over the top edge and it hung there, completely covering the glass. Now the old Eddie and my Christmas sweater could finally be together. I was happy to say good-bye to both of them, and all the misery they represented, for the very last time.
In spite of my thick winter coat I managed to awkwardly work my shoulders into the straps of the heavy knapsack. I put on my stocking cap and gloves and walked quietly down the stairs, taking just one at a time and pausing after each step to let the creak settle.
I reached the bottom stair, exhaled, and stepped out the front door into the world.
Fourteen
It was darker than I’d expected. The patchwork of ice covering the dead brown grass made the last snowfall seem like a distant memory.
My plan was to hitchhike into town. We weren’t far from the Boeing plant, so I knew there would be cars on the road even at this hour. But the emerging outline of the barn gave me a better idea. I pulled my grandfather’s flashlight from my coat pocket and turned it on. The batteries were almost dead, but there was enough light for me to make it to the barn. Pulling the door open would have made it drag along th
e ground and make a horribly loud noise, so, with the flashlight under my chin, I lifted up on the door and carefully swung it open.
The light made everything in the barn cast long, spooky shadows. The sewing-machine museum could have been a torture chamber. I headed for the camping tarp covering the present that never was. I lifted it off and felt the cold metal of the handlebars through my knit gloves. I set the flashlight on the ground and removed all the cards from the spokes so that no one would hear me leave. I noticed my grandfather had only used hearts. My grandmother’s touch, I thought. I left the hearts scattered all over the floor.
I tried to maneuver the bicycle from its tight hiding place, but the kickstand caught one of the legs of the shelving unit. Skeins and balls of yarn tumbled to the floor in slow motion. I guided the bike through the mess and out the door.
I was afraid that all of the noise might have woken my grandparents up, so I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the house behind me remained dark as Grandpa’s plow finally came into view. Still, I knew it wouldn’t be long before Grandpa was up doing chores and would notice that I was gone. I doubted he cared enough to get in his truck and go looking for me, but Grandma was a different matter. If anyone would care that I was gone, it would be her. And she could be pretty persuasive when she wanted to be.
Would someone really come for me?
Mount Vernon was an hour and a half away by car. I had no idea how long it would take on a bike. I hoped I could make it there by nightfall. Fortunately, a few months earlier, Taylor had shown me a shortcut to the main highway. It ran through a nearby cornfield just past his home. Not only would it save time but it would also keep me off the main road, just in case Grandpa came looking.
Would someone really come for me?
I turned left, riding in the narrow, matted, grassy space between the white line and the drainage ditch. As my eyes adjusted to the predawn darkness, I saw the opening to Russell’s overgrown driveway.
The grind of my bike’s chain and tires were the only sounds I heard at first. Then wind moving through barren trees joined the chorus. Then there was nothing but the sound of my own breathing.
Russell’s house was completely dark. I turned my flashlight back on, then wandered off the driveway and headed toward the corral. I expected the dim yellow beam to reveal a sleepy mare. Instead it was empty.
I parked the bike next to the house and carefully navigated the porch steps. There was something wrong with the silence. I aimed the flashlight to where the wind chime should have been. Nothing. I turned the light off and looked through the window, straining to find any sign of life in the house. Nothing. I aimed the light toward the big tree where we had sat on the park bench. It was gone.
And so was Russell.
With Russell gone, there was nothing, and nobody, I would ever miss about this stupid cow town. I got back on my bike, followed the moon down the driveway to the main road, and headed toward town. For the first time in my life, I was completely and totally free. And it felt great.
After a few more minutes of pedaling, Taylor’s driveway came into view. I was glad that I didn’t have time to act on the anger churning in my stomach, since his mailbox was due for a good bashing.
Instead I just pedaled. Not saying good-bye would have to be good enough revenge. Ahead of me I saw the narrow dirt road Taylor had told me about. I steered my bike toward it. The dirt-and-gravel trail was deeply rutted and lined on both sides by a dense, gray wall of dead and decaying cornstalks. As I rode, familiar farms gave way to unfamiliar sights. The sky was clear now and the moonlight helped me dodge the deeper scars in the path. No one will ever find me, I thought. No one is looking anyway. The thought filled my heart with anger.
In the solitude of the cornfield I could say whatever I wanted and no one would hear me. No one but God. It was an opportunity for me to vent my rage.
“I hate you!” I shouted. The night sky seemed to swallow my words. There wasn’t even an echo. I pedaled faster. “I asked you to help my mother be happy, and you couldn’t do that. Instead, you took her from me when I needed her most. My dad was a good man, and you couldn’t have cared less about him.” I paused, as if expecting a reply. None came. I poured all of my anger into the pedals.
I felt so alone. Screaming into the nothingness was the only thing that gave me comfort. “All I asked you for was this stupid bike, and even that was too much for you. You’re nothing but a fraud! I hate you!”
At that moment, words echoed through the cornstalks and into my mind. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere, all at once. The voice sounded a lot like my own, but my thoughts never had that much power or clarity.
“Sometimes the gift we want most is already with us, but we have to get out of our own way to receive it.”
I gritted my teeth and stood up on the pedals. “It’s not my fault!” I screamed as loud as I could, pedaling even faster—as if trying to outrun the voice. Suddenly my front tire caught a rut, throwing the bike sideways across the path. I screamed as I hit the dirt road. I don’t know how long I lay there, but when I finally sat up, the moon was gone. But the voices weren’t.
“Come home, Eddie. Just come home.”
“No!” I shouted. “I don’t have a home!”
The voice echoed words I’d heard somewhere before. “Animals run away from people they don’t trust; most times we run away from ourselves.”
For good reason, I thought. I couldn’t stand to be around myself anymore. I’d turned into something I hated, and I’d blamed it on everyone and everything else.
I stood up slowly and walked over to inspect the bike. The chain was off and the front fork was completely bent, as was the tire rim, rendering both useless. Now what would I do?
“You can’t run away from yourself,” whispered the voice.
“Wanna bet?” I shouted.
I began running, at first down the dirt path and then into the field itself, half blind from covering my eyes from the stinging, whipping cornstalks. A dozen yards ahead of me, a flock of crows flew up from the field, screeching wildly.
My heart was pounding so hard that I thought I could see it beating through my coat. I collapsed to my knees and looked up at the predawn sky. “I hate you,” I said softly.
“I love you,” the voice whispered back.
I lay there for a long time, aching and exhausted. I had been running from these strange voices, but now my head was filled with my own.
Why didn’t I talk to Grandpa? Why did I always pull back when he and Grandma tried to reach out? Why did I try to hurt my mother?
“I love you,” the voice repeated. “Come home, Eddie. All is well.”
How could all be well? How could anything ever be well again? At that moment I began to shed the first unselfish tears of my entire life. I had cried before, but this time it came from someplace deeper. Images of my family flashed through my mind. I loved them. I hated myself. Deep inside I wanted their forgiveness.
Look at yourself, I thought. I was just thirteen, and I was already as broken as the corn around me. This isn’t what life was supposed to be. But when had life ever been what it was supposed to be? I wished I could start over again. I wished I had a second chance to do the right things, but I knew better: There are no second chances.
How could anyone ever forgive me after all the things I’d done? How could I look Grandpa in the eyes knowing that all he would see was the kid I had turned into over the last year? I was as empty and as dead inside as the cornfield I stood in. Maybe this was where I belonged. Maybe this was my new home.
After a few more minutes I wiped my eyes, lifted my backpack, and stumbled to my feet. I wandered back in the direction I thought I had come from, following a trail of gray, broken stalks. I had no idea where I was or how far I’d come in my mad rush into the field. I climbed a small knoll, high enough to look over the top of the corn and survey the area. I looked in the direction I’d thought I’d come from, but the road was gone and there w
as no sign of my bike.
Nothing looked familiar. The land was flat, dead, and barren, an endless pattern of brown, black, and gray cornstalks as far as I could see. Then, as I looked behind me, I saw a road. But it wasn’t the one I had traveled earlier. It was broken and desolate, and at the end of it lurked something that filled me with terror: a dark, undulating storm.
Where had it come from? Why hadn’t I seen it earlier?
A new, brash voice spoke to me. It seemed to come from the cornfield itself. “You were right, Eddie, God doesn’t care. He never has.” The words echoed my own thoughts and should’ve been comforting, but the tone of the voice sent a shiver down my spine.
The now familiar soft whisper responded, “God loves you, Eddie. Come home, everything will be all right.”
“No, Eddie,” the cornfield rebutted, its voice growing in strength. “This is where you belong. The cornfield is your home.”
I looked up at the storm again. Black, deep green, and silver swirled together in a cloud that breathed and heaved in the sky. The storm seemed strangely alive. Beckoning.
In a voice that sounded like my own, the cornfield mocked, “I’ll earn it. I promise.”
But each time the brash voice spoke, it was countered by the comforting whisper. “Come home.”
“I can’t go home,” I cried. “I don’t even know how to get there from here.”
The whisper said, “Face the storm.”
The cornfield responded immediately, as if panicked that I might listen to the whisper. “The storm will crush you, Eddie. It destroys all who face it.” The voice was gaining confidence by the minute, growing louder and stronger. “Look around, Eddie, you are home. This is where you belong.”
I looked around and knew the voice was right. This was the place I deserved to be. It offered no comfort, but at least I knew there wouldn’t be any more pain.