Spark a Story

by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  “Golly, Lottie,” Freddy said as he observed our predicament. I had fallen on top of him, my face landing in the mud. “You’re always getting me knocked down.”

  “Oh, you!” I shoved him, getting him just as muddy as I. He rolled over and sat up, slinging a replica of a snowball—made of mud—right at me. My mouth dropped open and I reached up to smack him, but stopped short.

  My skin was no longer white. I stared at my arm, looking at my mud-covered hand. While I wasn’t as dark as Freddy, I still wasn’t white. I looked into his eyes, my breathing a little more rapid than usual.

  “Lottie?” He frowned, showing his concern. “Are you alright?”

  I blinked. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine. We should probably get back. Sara can’t hear us anymore.”

  He nodded and helped me up.

  “Thanks, Freddy.” I smiled and looked at my skin against his. We weren’t black and white anymore. Just . . . people.

  At home, I decided to sneak in the back door. I hoped to rinse off before Auntie May saw me.

  “Lottie? Is that you?”

  I whirled around to face Auntie May.

  “What happened?” Her face paled.

  “I was with some friends and we . . . uh . . . got in a mud fight.”

  “Which friends?” Her arms crossed and seemed to intimidate me even more.

  “Sara and . . . Freddy,” I gulped.

  Aunt May frowned. “Was Sara present at all times?”

  My thoughts flew back to the mud bath, and a few times before that. But we thought of each other as siblings. “Not . . . at all times.”

  Her wrinkles deepened. “Lottie! You know how I feel about that.”

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” I squeaked out.

  “Still, you shouldn’t be alone with a boy!”

  “Aunt May—”

  “Don’t you talk back! You’ve changed this summer. It’s because of those kids!”

  “It’s not!” I cried.

  “I forbid you to see them again.”

  “What?”

  “Never. Again.”

  “Can I at least say goodbye?”

  “No!”

  I ran up to my room and slammed the door. I had only known them for a short while, but they had been tucked deep into my heart.

  If I had known my heart could hurt like this, I doubted I ever would’ve befriended Freddy and Sara.

  I knew I couldn’t disobey her, but I saw Freddy again when he came to Aunt May’s house to check on me.

  “Five minutes.” The sentence was punctuated when she shut the door with force.

  “Freddy, I feel so awful . . .”

  He looked right at me. “I thought you cared about us. Why did you stop coming over?”

  “Aunt May . . . didn’t like that we had been—”

  His eyes hardened. “That we didn’t follow the rules? Times are changing. We’re not bad people. I wish you would have the guts to come see us. We won’t always be defined by our skin color.”

  I gaped at him. “I am not obeying my aunt because of your skin color!”

  Freddy tilted his head. “Seems like it to me.” With that, he began to walk away but stopped and turned. My heart jumped. “Goodbye, Lottie.”

  After this happened, my aunt tried to take my mind off of the loss of my friends. She thought everything had smoothed over between us, but I was still upset. A small part of me wondered if I should be listening to my aunt.

  I began to take in more of the world surrounding me. I noticed signs that told who could enter where in restaurants. The not-so-subtle looks people would sometimes get from the opposite race.

  I came to the conclusion it didn’t matter what color our skin was, but our character—that was what made us who we were.

  Once I had come to this conclusion, my newfound belief was put to the test by a pounding on the door in the middle of the night.

  “Who is it, Duke?” I yawned and stood behind him.

  Duke frowned. “It’s that colored boy.”

  I moved past him to see through the window. “Freddy!” I yanked the door open and was greeted by the sight of Freddy, but I felt the blood rush from my face when I saw Freddy holding Sara in his arms. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes bored into mine. “Please, help us.”

  I nodded. “Let me get dressed. We can go to the hospital.”

  I ran up to my room and got dressed. “Let’s go.” I matched my strides with his, and put my hand to her forehead. “She’s burning up.”

  He nodded. “It’s been like this for two days. I don’t know what’s wrong. Her fever won’t go down!” He looked at me. “If she wasn’t this bad, I wouldn’t’ve come.”

  I blinked. “Let’s just get her to a hospital.”

  We reached the hospital and I shoved the door open for Freddy to walk through. A couple walked in right behind us, and I stopped at the line of people waiting to be seen. I chewed my lip. “Let me take her to the bathroom, to see if I can get her cooled down. You get in line.”

  He nodded and I took her. She was as light as a feather—she looked it, too. I did my best to get her fever down by patting her with cold water. It did little good, and I finally took her back out. My arms were straining by that time and I was relieved to give her back to Freddy.

  “It’s almost time. We’re going to get called on in a few minutes.”

  A nurse came up to us. She looked at us, then at the people next to us. “Who came in first?”

  I blinked. “I think we came in at the same time.”

  The man nodded.

  The nursed looked at us again. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s burning up. She hasn’t eaten anything for two days and hasn’t had anything to drink for one,” Freddy responded. “Can you help her?”

  “And what’s wrong with her?” The nurse pointed to the couple beside us.

  The husband responded. “A cough, really. It’s been going on for a week.”

  She nodded at the couple. “If you’ll come with me . . .”

  I frowned. “Wait a minute. You’re taking them in first?”

  The nurse stood still. “Yes.”

  “Why? We came in at the same time—and Sara is in more need than this woman!”

  “I—”

  “Is it because they’re black?” I glared at her.

  “Of course not—”

  “How dare you discriminate against them! They aren’t beneath us! Their blood is the same color as ours. Why don’t you judge them instead of their skin color?” Hands on my hips, I made eye contact with the nurse. “Show us to a room. Now.”

  With the realization that I had gone on a rant that might have had nothing to do with the problem at hand, I felt my face flush.

  The nurse’s eyes widened, and a doctor came up behind her with another nurse. “Helen, please show these three to a room. I’ll be with them shortly.” He turned to the couple. “If you’ll go with Bridget, she’ll show you to a room as well. Another doctor will be with you soon.”

  Satisfied and a little shaky in the knees, I followed the doctor to a room, where he did a thorough exam on Sara. He then delivered the happy news that Sara had a common cold—with an uncommon fever. He prescribed some medicine, as well as an overnight stay so they could hydrate her and get her fever down.

  He then left, promising to return within the hour.

  Freddy glanced over at me. “What made you say all that to the nurse?”

  I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Aunt May is a rule follower. I am too. I saw what I could become. And Freddy . . . I don’t want to be my aunt. Some rules are meant to be broken. I want to be friends with whomever I want, whatever their race. People should be judged by their character, not their skin color.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  I laughed. “I have no idea.”

  Freddy tilted his head. “That’s okay. You’ll have me. And Sara.”

  And
I did. Beau and Ruthie, too, once they got used to my new beliefs. In fact, Ruthie became a civil rights activist. Beau and I eventually got married. Freddy became a doctor. Sara is now a mother to three sweet children. And I? You could probably say that I no longer see black and white.

  I see glorious colors of character.

  DESTINY TRINH

  The Letters

  I LET OUT a loaded breath as I blow or, more accurately, attempt to blow a stubborn strand of baby hair out of my face. Maybe next time certain brands should include this warning on all the bottles of their “so-called” extra-strength hairspray: HOLDS HAIR IN PLACE FOR UP TO 24 HOURS EXCEPT WHEN IN CONTACT WITH WATER, WIND, OR . . . AIR. The angry letter to the CEO that I’ve started to mentally write is quickly dissolved as I step out of my beat-up Honda Civic and take one look at my house . . . or what has become of it. The front door is wide open, every single room in the house appears to be lit, and the voices coming from inside are so loud I silently thank God for blessing us with next-door neighbors who were born completely deaf.

  Slamming the door, I march inside as I shout, “Lucus!” My oldest son at least has the decency to look guilty as he emerges from his room, holding a laptop in one hand and a pair of headphones in the other. “What was my one request of you today?” I all but growl out.

  “To keep the house in order,” he mutters, glancing down at his feet.

  “And?”

  “It’s not, but . . . Mom—I swear I only had my headphones on for like fifteen minutes!” he exclaims, widening his eyes to feign a look of purity and innocence.

  “Don’t even give me that right now. I can hear Anna and Jeremiah yelling at each other over the TV remote . . . something neither of them should even be holding on a school night! Not to mention, the house, which was spotless this morning, is a complete mess! And I haven’t even seen them yet but Nathan and Jacob better not be digging up holes in the backyard in search of ‘buried treasure.’ ”

  At that point I don’t even know why I bother marching through the living room to peek out into the backyard, because, sure enough, sitting on the ground covered in dirt and germs and everything gross sit my two youngest sons. I throw a glare over my shoulder at Lucus, who flashes a sheepish grin back at me.

  “Boys!” I shout through the old screen door. If I hadn’t been so tired and angry I would have laughed at the way they scrambled to their feet and positioned their bodies in a sad attempt to hide all the large holes and growing mounds of dirt. “We seem to be unclear about rules in this household!” I yell. “How many times have I explicitly told you that digging holes in this backyard is not allowed!?”

  “We’re sorry, Mom,” they whisper as they bow their heads.

  “Just go take a shower please. Both of you.” With a heavy sigh, I push Lucus by the small of his back into the family room, where the twins, Anna and Jeremiah, are now each silently holding a book. They could possibly have passed for reading if their eyes actually moved across the pages . . . and if Jeremiah wasn’t holding a book titled What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

  “Just so you geniuses know,” I say, addressing the both of them as they pretend to wrap up their last sentences. “In your attempt to pretend like you weren’t watching TV, you forgot to actually turn off the TV.”

  Immediately Anna’s neck snaps up to face Jeremiah. “That was your job!”

  “No! You said you would do it if I hid the remote!”

  “Well, how on earth do you want me to turn a television off without the remote?”

  “Well maybe if you—”

  “Hey!” I yell. “I don’t care whose job it was! Twelve years old is more than old enough to follow simple rules—no TV on weeknights! The three of you are grounded for a week and don’t even think about asking me to let you stay home alone tomorrow!”

  Tears of frustration pool in my eyes. Turning away, I quickly head down the hallway and into the bathroom when I see a cream envelope addressed to me sitting under a massive pile of bills on the kitchen counter. I grab it hastily, head to the bedroom, and collapse on the bed with eyes full of tears from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. I toss the envelope onto a small corner of my desk, where three others identical to it lay, collecting dust and the occasional strands of hair.

  Ten years ago my husband, now ex, Dave, was sent to prison for driving while under the influence of alcohol. He’d had a passenger in the car with him, and while the bastard was able to physically walk away from the wreckage, his friend was not so lucky. She’d been killed on impact; when the car smashed into the metal pole, her head had also collided with it. And if that wasn’t enough for one wife to handle, the investigation into the accident had revealed that the man I was married to had been a little too friendly with this one friend in particular. They had been together for three years. Not to mention the minor detail that she was, in fact, a minor.

  I had filed for divorce very shortly after the details of the investigation were released. It was the hardest on Lucus, being only seven years old he not only had to deal with his parents separating, but the fact that the man he had loved and looked up to his entire life had taken a life . . . and would be spending a long time behind bars for it. Part of what made it so difficult was that he was old enough to understand exactly what was going on—but too young to understand how to cope with everything. It was a little easier with the twins, because they were only two when it happened—and it wasn’t until they were eleven that I told them the truth about why they didn’t have a dad. As for Nathan and Jacob, they are actually my biological nephews. Four years ago, when Nathan was two, my sister passed away giving birth to Jacob. The boys know that while I’m not their birth mother, I’m their mother in all the ways that matter. Initially I hadn’t wanted to explain the whole father situation to them. But just like my sister, the boys are as intelligent as they are intuitive. So a couple of months ago when they started asking why they didn’t have a dad, I had no choice but to call a family meeting and explain it to them.

  After Dave’s sentencing, the judge had announced that after ten years, if his behavior was clean and he appeared truly remorseful for the mistakes he had made, there was a chance he could be released. The letters from him started coming in about a month ago. I think when he wrote the first one, he knew the chances of him leaving prison were quite high. He hadn’t been in any fights with the other inmates, participated in his group therapy, and had his counselor convinced that he was a good man who just made a mistake, one that happened to be extremely costly.

  In the first letter he sent, he had tried to explain his side of the story. That he was so sorry that he had hurt our family so badly. That he was so sorry he had cheated, but that he hadn’t felt happy in our relationship for a long time. I couldn’t blame him there. I hadn’t been happy in a while, either, but we never addressed it because my focus had been all on Lucus, and then Anna and Jeremiah. Dave was the type of person to live in denial. Unless there was a problem that slapped him in the face, he would find ways to avoid dealing with it. In his mind, if he never addressed it, he could pretend like it wasn’t happening.

  He had ended the letter by saying that his lawyers were confident that the judge would be releasing him soon due to good behavior and that he wanted to reconnect. He wrote that while he understood that I might not want to see him, he had a right to see his children, the ones he hadn’t seen in ten years.

  After Dave got sent away, I never really had time to process everything myself. One hundred percent of my time and energy went to my children. I worked from home, squeezing in time to take them to and from school and to all of their afterschool activities. I don’t think the reality of the situation hit me until ten years later, when I got that letter.

  I’ve gotten three more letters from him since then. I haven’t opened any of them and a small part of me hopes that if I close my eyes and cross my fingers it will all go away and I won’t have to make a decision. I don’t want him to walk back into our li
ves only for him to leave again, or to make another mistake. The kids deserve so much more than that. On the other hand, what if I prevent them from seeing him and he actually has changed for the better? If they ever found out, they would hate me. How do I know if he’s changed? How can I tell?

  A knock at the door interrupts my torn stream of thoughts. Lucus, Anna, Jeremiah, Nathan, and Jacob poke their heads into the room and the four of them nudge Jeremiah forward.

  “Mom . . . can we talk to you about something?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Of course, guys, come here.” I scoot over and pat my bed, motioning for them to come forward. As they settle in, Lucus looks up at me and says, “I’m sorry about today. I know you trusted us and we messed up.”

  “It’s okay. I was harsh on everyone—I’ve been extra stressed out lately but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” I say as I hug them closer to me.

  “Does any of it have to do with the letters Dad’s been sending you?” Anna blurts out.

  “How did you guys know about that?”

  “The other day I went to your desk looking for a pen when I found the stack of letters,” she admits. “I didn’t open them but it probably means that Dad’s out of jail, right?”

  “He will be. Soon.” I hesitate before continuing. “And he wants to see you. The three of you. I wasn’t planning on telling you until I had made a decision but maybe I was wrong in trying to make the decision for you. Sometimes I forget how much you guys have grown up that I still try to protect you from everything humanly possible. The truth is the choice is up to you. Do you want your father to be a part of your lives?”

  The question hangs in the air, wrapping its weight around us. It feels like it’s moments like these that are the defining moments in your life. That simple yes or no that can change the course of your life forever. Put yourself out there and trust that people can change. Sometimes it’s moments like these when you need to stop your thoughts, close your eyes, and take a leap of faith.