Joey and the Magic Map

by Tory Anderson

  “He doesn’t have armor. He can’t fly. He doesn’t have any superpowers at all!”

  This is what Joey liked about Robin Hood. Robin Hood didn’t need any of those super powers to be a hero. Robin Hood was a natural leader. He could live comfortably in the woods using his own ingenuity. It’s true, he was a dead-shot with a bow, but that’s hardly a superpower—just skill. What Joey liked best was how Robin Hood freed a kingdom from tyranny using his natural talents and most importantly, courage. Robin Hood could have been killed easily by a sword or an arrow. The possibility of dying didn’t stop him. Robin Hood didn’t just beat up bad guys, he had a way of changing people’s lives for good. He made people want to live better. There was something of real power in this, something more than blades that came out of your knuckles or a suit of impenetrable armor.

  Joey picked up a dead limb that made a good pretend bow. Picking out a tree about a hundred feet through the woods he nocked an imaginary arrow, aimed carefully, and let the arrow fly. It flew true and struck the tree with a quivering sound that could be heard all the way to where he stood. Joey’s imaginary confidence swelled. He stood taller as he continued walking through the woods. His men, scattered among the trees, looked at him with admiration. They loved their leader.

  Were you scared? Did you cry? His little sister’s words found him even out here in the woods. Joey’s momentary confidence fled like a rabbit from a hawk. His imaginary men frowned and slipped away into the forest. Help me. Please! Joey heard his pitiful cries for help in the cellar. Swinging his stick hard he struck a tree. His stick broke in two.

  Pushing his sister’s words out of his mind Joey started to run through the woods. He liked the feeling of the tree trunks whipping past. The challenge of ducking, dodging and jumping trunks, limbs, and rocks thrilled him. Finally he fell onto his back on the cool earth of the woodland floor. He stared up through the leaves at bits of blue sky and white sunlight. The smell of earth and leaves tickled his nose. He felt better, happy almost.

  As Joey lay there his eyes fell on a tree with a split trunk. It looked like it had been hit by lightning a long time ago. The tree was still alive, even the split part that angled sharply away from the rest of the tree. By climbing on the split-off part he could reach the lower limbs of the trunk that were still upright and climb the tree. This wounded maple was no mighty weeping willow, but it still looked fun to climb.

  He went to the tree, excitement bubbling up inside him. Joey was afraid of many things, but climbing trees wasn’t one of them. In his imagination the limbs above were another world. He envied the birds, so at ease and safe, up in the limbs. They had a different point of view from those who could only see the world from the ground. It was a superior view, one that had to make them wiser. The limbs also promised seclusion. Even with people nearby a person could be alone up there. Too bad Mrs. Johanaby had read that story in the newspaper about the boy falling from a tree and being impaled on an iron fence.

  “Like that would happen more than once,” Joey muttered. She had banned all tree climbing from that day on. She also thought all those iron fences should be torn down no matter how pretty they were.

  Joey got up and walked to the tree. He put his hand on the trunk and felt the texture of the bark. He thought he could feel the life in the tree. He wanted to be part of it. He had run away from home and he was playing in the woods—both things his mother had forbidden. Climbing the tree couldn’t make things much worse. Besides, there were no iron fences around. He stepped up on the split trunk, reached a low branch and scrambled up. His heart beat wildly, not from exertion, but from the adventure. He hadn’t climbed a tree since his mom had read the article three years ago.

  Joey became aware of an something unpleasant niggling in the back of his mind. Was it fear? Or was it his conscience? It didn’t matter; he was going to climb this tree! Ignoring the feeling he climbed higher and higher until the limbs were narrow and swayed with his weight. The broad leaves brushed his face and the bark was rough against his hands and cheek. The woody smell of the tree was wildness and freedom.

  He stood on one branch his arms wrapped around another. Before his eyes was a world of limbs and leaves and space. Two trees away a red squirrel scampered from limb to limb as easily as Joey could walk down a sidewalk. The squirrel came toward him carelessly transferring from one tree to another. Just before reaching Joey’s tree it saw him. It chattered a sharp complaint and scampered back the other way. Joey was delighted at being a part of the squirrel’s world.

  Almost imperceptibly, the tree swayed under his weight. The feeling was exhilarating. He clung tighter to the branch. He laughed at first, but the exhilaration turned to fear.

  “I’m not afraid,” Joey said, his eyes closed, his arms wrapped tightly around the branch. He realized he was right; it wasn’t fear he was feeling. It was more like conscience. He shouldn’t be in the tree.

  “It’s okay,” he said to himself. “I don’t have to get down.”

  The feeling grew stronger. Not only did he feel he should get down, but he felt he should go home.

  “No,” he said, more loudly. “I won’t go home!” he almost yelled these last words. The impression didn’t go away. Instead it became stronger. It confused and frightened him. It was the second time that day that he had felt this fear. In the cellar it was the darkness that caused the fear, or something in the darkness with him—an angry ghost of a murdered woman? It wasn’t dark here. The sun was out, the woods were green and friendly, and the tree was easy to climb. He had nothing to fear here.

  Slowly his confusion and fear turned into understanding—he simply understood that he should get out of the tree and go home. It was as clear to him as the maple leaf in front of his face. Disappointment filled his mind. He had finally gotten away from the twins. He was finally in a tree. He deserved this and didn’t want to cut it short.

  “No,” he said.

  He heard wind chimes, softly, but more distinctly than he had ever heard them before. Two high notes struck at once making a tone that was discordant and jarring. There wasn’t a breath of a breeze anywhere. If there were a breeze he was too far from home to hear chimes. These chimes weren’t natural. Even worse, these chimes were nearby.

  Holding on to the tree tighter he tried to conquer his fear with defiance.

  “I’m staying here!” he yelled. He was talking to the chimes or whatever they represented. Nothing answered him. The birds had grown silent. All was still—unnaturally so. Joey recognized the stillness. It was a breath before speaking, a calm before the storm, the instant before a tiger leaps. Already holding the limb as tightly as he could Joey wrapped a leg around it also.

  The gust of wind hit without warning. It came up from the ground instead of across the tops of the trees. Wind is natural, but this was all wrong. His hair and t-shirt shirt blew upwards as if he were in a tornado. His body tingled like there was lightning in the air. A second gust of wind whirled up from the base of the tree. This time it was stronger, and it didn’t stop. Leaves and dirt flew up and stung Joey’s back and arms. Joey closed his eyes. He would have screamed if the wind hadn’t taken his breath away. The gust began spinning and turned into a whirlwind so strong that Joey thought it was going to rip the tree right out of the ground. It might have if Joey hadn’t lost his grip first. Joey realized he was falling. For the second time that day he fainted.

  Slowly Joey opened his eyes. He found himself lying on his back at the base of the tree. Everything was still again. It was like nothing had happened; as if he had only fallen asleep and dreamed. Had he? Joey flexed his fingers and then worked his elbows. They didn’t hurt. Carefully he sat up. His back was fine. It must have been a dream. He couldn’t have fallen from so high up that tree, through all those branches, without a scratch. It was impossible.

  “It was all just a dream,” Joey said.

  No sooner had he said it than the leaves around him suddenly shook and rustled in the motionless air. Whatever it wa
s was still there. The feeling that he should go home came flooding into him again.

  “Please, leave me alone,” he pleaded.

  Chimes sounded again. This time multiple notes struck at once. The impression that he should go home became too strong to fight. Getting to his feet he ran toward the road as fast as he could. The feeling got stronger. Something was terribly wrong.

  Instead of following the road home, Joey crossed it and ran into the woods to shorten the distance to . . . to where. This wasn’t the shortest distance to his house. He didn’t know where he was going, yet he knew he was going the right direction. He crashed through branches and limbs that were in his way. They cut his arms and scratched his face but Joey didn’t slow down.

  He came to a fence made of wooden rails, climbed over it quickly, and then dashed on through a field of tall grass just like the one behind his home. He was in the field neighboring theirs separated only by a drainage pond.

  He arrived at the pond suddenly stopping just short of falling down the steep bank into the green, murky water. On the other side of the pond he saw Story acting very strangely. He ran along the pond a few feet then stopped. He put his hands to his face and yelled something. He turned and ran back the other way crying.

  Joey’s heart almost stopped when he saw what was wrong. Glory’s head popped out of the water her arms flailing. He heard a choking cry before she went back under again.

  Joey sprinted around the pond to get to the side Glory was nearest to. Story saw Joey and started calling frantically, “Joey! Joey! Help her! Please help her!” He was crying hysterically.

  Joey came to a stop next to Story as Glory’s face broke the surface, just barely, followed by one hand. She coughed once and there was a gurgle as she went under again. For a moment Joey could still see the yellow of her jumper before she sank too deep in the murky green.

  “Save her, Joey! Save her!” Story screamed the words.

  Joey couldn’t move. He stood on the grassy bank staring at the spot where Glory had disappeared. He didn’t want Glory to drown; he wanted to jump in, to save her. In his mind he was on the diving board at the public pool. He was leaping off, feeling the slap of the water against his stomach as it knocked the wind out of him, feeling himself sinking alone to the bottom.

  “JOEY!” Story cried. He was pulling on Joey’s arm.

  “HELP,” Joey screamed. He looked across the fields. No one was coming. “Help,” he said. This time he said it quietly, without hope. Joey felt an impression, like in the wood. It didn’t urge him to run. Instead it was quiet and calming, yet intense like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

  “You know how to swim,” a voice said to him. It was a voice, but it was like he was speaking to himself. He knew he wasn’t.

  “I can’t,” he said. The water was so murky. He didn’t know how deep it was.

  “If you don’t save her she will die,” the voice said. There was no threat in the voice, just fact.

  “I’m scared,” Joey said out loud.

  “That’s okay,” answered the voice. “Save your sister.”

  Joey jumped and slid down the muddy bank into the water. Even by the bank the water was over his head. The water was warm and thick. He panicked and clawed his way to the surface. He had instinctively turned toward the bank, but Story was screaming, “Behind you!” Dog paddling he turned around and saw nothing. How could he find her in this murky water?

  His despair changed to sudden hope when his foot touched something. It was Glory. He put his head down and reached blindly with his hands. He felt nothing at first except the soft sliminess of algae. No, it wasn’t algae—it was Glory’s hair. He grabbed and pulled. To his great relief Glory rose to the surface. The life guard that had saved his life had held him around the chest. With a few strong strokes he had deftly brought Joey to the pool’s edge. Joey was no life guard. He struggled to keep Glory’s head above water by pulling on her hair as he slapped at the water and kicked his way the three feet to the bank.

  Joey’s relief at reaching the bank lasted only a moment. It was so steep and muddy he couldn’t climb out himself let alone pull Glory out. He managed to get Glory’s head and neck against the mud. He had to keep pushing her up to keep her head out of the water. She was unconscious and would slip back under the moment he stopped.

  He was having trouble keeping his own head out of the water. We’re both going to drown, Joey thought. He swallowed the sour water and coughed. Joey looked up to see Story reaching down with a stick, a determined look on his face. The stick was really nothing more than a twig. It was far too short and fragile to help.

  Glory was slipping under again. Joey frantically kicked and grabbed at the mud to get her head back up.

  I can’t keep doing this, he thought, losing hope.

  The irony of the situation struck like a blow to the stomach. She was in the pond because he had run away. He had jumped in to save her—now they would both drown. The fact that he had managed to get her to the bank and they would drown anyway seemed especially cruel to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Glory as they both started to slip under.

  The voice came again. “Try a little longer and you won’t have to be sorry.”

  Joey heard this voice with his ears. It was a woman’s voice. With that encouragement he kicked his heavy legs, pushed on Glory, and clawed at the mud one more time. Looking up Joey half expected to see the voice’s owner on the bank above him next to Story. There was no one there. The disappointment was horrible. Joey coughed up water and tried to take a breath before more water came in.

  All hope gone, Joey’s instinct was to let go of Glory and try to save himself. As he struggled he saw her face. It was smeared with mud. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t breathing. Instead of letting go he pulled her close and began to sink with her.

  “They’re coming,” said the woman. Her voice was calm.

  “I can’t,” Joey said.

  “Go up one more time. Don’t choose to drown,” she answered.

  “Choose?” Joey thought. Even with his brain starved of oxygen he felt anger. “I have no choice.”

  Just then his foot pressed against something solid sticking out of the bank—a concrete culvert. With the last choice of his life Joey pushed. Up they rose for the last time.

  There, leaning dangerously far over the edge, was Mrs. Johanaby. The sight strengthened Joey just enough to push Glory a few inches up the bank. Grabbing Glory’s hair Mrs. Johanaby was able to pull her up the bank to safety.

  Joey felt a great relief as he saw Glory’s legs disappear into the grass. “We did it,” he said, a feeling of peace coming over him even as he sank beneath the water’s surface, exhausted.

  “Up you go,” said the voice. Joey felt himself float back to the surface just as Beezer’s head poked over the bank. With one last effort Joey threw his arm towards Beezer’s outstretched hand. It hit the mud with a slap. Beezer reached a little further, grabbed Joey’s wrist and with surprising strength pulled Joey onto the grass.

  “It ain’t your time, either,” Beezer said, softly.

  Joey closed his eyes as he coughed up foul tasting water. Then he took one deep breath after another of sweet summer air. In it he could taste the dusty grass, the musty pond, and lilacs. It was all so wonderful.

  Next to him his mother was giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to Glory. His joy at being alive fled as he thought that Glory might actually die even after all he had done.

  “Glory,” he mumbled and weakly reached out an arm.

  “It’s okay,” said Beezer.

  “No, it’s not!” said Joey feeling a desperate anger. He had tried so hard and she had died anyway? He struggled to sit up.

  “Just watch,” Beezer said, letting Joey lean against him.

  Glory looked so small lying there in the grass. Mud caked her jumper and the side of her face. Mrs. Johanaby pinched Glory’s nose and breathed into her mouth again and again. Her concentration was complete
; there was nothing else in the world at that moment. Story was on his knees beside her, crying. He said Glory’s name over and over.

  Then Glory coughed. Muddy water spilled out of her mouth and she coughed more. Eventually her eyes opened and she groaned. “Mommy!” she whispered.

  “A ‘Gloryous’ sound,” said Beezer. He chuckled at his pun. Joey’s mind was foggy and slow. Finally, he understood what Beezer had just said. He looked at him. “Sorry,” Beezer said. He chuckled again and repeated, “Gloryous.” Joey didn’t understand what Beezer was laughing at, but the sound of Glory’s voice did sound good to him. Glory was alive.

  “Oh, thank God!” Mrs. Johanaby cried.

  She pulled Glory up into her arms and cradled her like a baby. Then, and only then, did Mrs. Johanaby glance away from Glory’s face. Her glance landed on Joey. Their eyes met. Joey saw her freeze just for an instant with a look of horror on her face. There wasn’t a word spoken, but he understood immediately what was wrong—she had forgotten about him and had just realized it. She had pulled the unconscious Glory from the pond and forgotten to come back for him. Glory started crying as she coughed up more water and what looked like blood. Mrs. Johanaby looked again with alarm at Glory. Just before she looked away Joey recognized something he knew very well in her eyes—shame.

  “I’ve got to get her to the hospital,” Mrs. Johanaby said.

  “Go, then. Go,” Beezer said. “I’ll watch these two. Don’t you worry none.”

  Mrs. Johanaby nodded her gratitude, lifted Glory and ran across the grass toward the house.

  Beezer, Joey, and Story sat watching as Mrs. Johanaby climbed the steps over the fence carrying Glory as easily as if she were a kitten. They heard the truck engine start and the crunching of gravel as it left the drive.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Joey asked, suddenly feeling the absence of his mother and Glory.

  “She’s going to be just fine,” Beezer said with confidence.

  “How do you know that?” Joey wanted it to be true, but he wanted to know how Beezer was so sure.