Philip Dampier's Blog

Episode One

Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass there stood a ten-foot high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt out candles and dead flowers and a few soggy teddy bears. One word of graffiti filled the wall, red letters on a gold background: Rejoice!

Hannah stepped back and admired her work. Some of her letters were crooked, and none of them were really perfect, but anyone who could read English could make the word out. They wouldn’t understand it, but they would be able to read it. It was such an oxymoron considering the nature of the shrine under the word.

The shrine had been there for almost a week now; time enough for the flowers to die and the candles to burn out. Time enough for one short rain shower as if there wasn’t gloom enough. Hannah came to the wall every day to visit and to shed a new tear. Today was different, however. Today she wrote the word and even added an exclamation mark.

Her brother Billy was dead. No way to change that. She found the truth to be bittersweet, and the sweet part led her to paint the word. She stole the two cans of paint and a brush out of her foster parents’ garage. She knew she would be in serious trouble when they found out but the way she figured it that was not new news.

Hannah was two when she came to live with Myrtle and Archer Johnson. Billy had been a baby. She remembered little of the first two or three years, but she remembered almost everything that had happened to her and Billy in the seven years afterward. None of what she remembered was pleasant; most of it was very painful.

No one believed her story. The Johnsons were such nice people. Regular churchgoers, volunteers for all sorts of community projects and they gave those two poor little orphans a nice home. Right! Hannah thought. They also beat the stew out of those poor little orphans when no one was looking. Not to mention the sexual abuse. Poor little orphan Billy couldn’t take it anymore, and now he didn’t have to.

Hannah thought many times about suicide herself but she was either too cowardly, or she was too bull-headed. In spite of what she learned in Sunday School, she knew she hated the Johnsons. She no longer referred to them as mother and daddy but as Mr. and Mrs. It was her way of fighting back. They punished her of course. She would not give in, however.

Hannah also thought about running away, but she didn’t know where to run to. It was one of her three alternatives. The second one was to kill the Johnsons, but she didn’t know just how to do it, and something told her it was more wrong than what they did to Billy and her. The third one was to try to exist until she could run away. As of this day, it was the one she chose.

The young pre-teen set the cans up against the block wall and laid the brush on top of the red one. Too dangerous to take everything home. This way their absence might not be noticed. At least not till the Johnson’s drove by the freshly painted wall. She hoped that they might not for a week or two.

She was still grieving about her brother. The way she felt at that moment, she wouldn’t stop grieving anytime soon. Not for Billy but for herself. Her painted word was what she felt for Billy. If the Sunday School teacher was right, that is. She had to believe he was. Billy deserved a place without tears. He had shed enough that was for sure. Billy smiling in heaven was a reason to rejoice.

Hannah walked over to where the teddy bears were lying and picked one up. It was Billy’s most cherished possession. He got it for Christmas when he was three years old. It came in the mail a week before the Holiday, but the Johnsons never said who sent it. That same year she received a Barbie the same way. She thought she would take the bear to her room and hide it somewhere. It would be like having a part of Billy with her in a way.

She thought again about the bear and doll and how their donor was kept anonymous. She let her mind toss the obvious question around. She knew nothing about her parents. The Johnsons either didn’t know or purposely lied about it. Could the presents have come from her mom or dad? And why just that one Christmas? The thoughts added to the sadness and so she pushed them away for later consideration.

It was Friday afternoon, and she had been at the shrine much longer than usual. She put the bear under her arm and hurried down the street to the road that her house was on. She needed to sneak the bear in and get her chores done before the Johnsons got home. The chores included getting things ready for dinner and if that wasn’t done there would be hell to pay. Why had she stayed at the wall so long?

That night while the family was eating, Hannah decided to ask the Johnsons about her birth mother and real father. Her opening came when Mrs. Johnson asked if she had been by the wall.

“Did you go to the shrine again today, Hannah?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I think it’s time to move on. You can’t undo what’s been done.”

“I miss him so much. He was my only true relative.”

“We’re your parents, Hannah. We took the two of you in when you lost your parents.”

“When I was at the wall I thought about our parents. Will you please tell me about them?”

“Your mother and father didn’t want you and put you in a home. We took you in as foster children. You’re very lucky.”

Hannah had trouble concentrating on washing and drying the dishes when the meal was over thinking about what Mrs. Johnson had said to her. The Johnsons only wanted her so they could abuse her and her mother and father didn’t want her at all. She couldn’t help the tears that ran down her cheeks any more than she could help the hurt in her heart.