Chapter 3
864 Words
Chapter 1. A Fearful Boy
Sam slouched on the cool, smooth wooden bench in his elementary school’s playground, pen in hand and his battered spiral notebook in his lap, trying to write a poem to go with a story. Sam wrote wonderful stories, or at least he thought he did, but he never showed them to anyone except his parents, fearing that the other kids would think they were stupid and laugh at him. He daydreamed too much to make sense of math or science, or to compete in sports or games, so he spent a lot of time sitting alone thinking up stories.
While his classmates romped in the sunny playground, Sam worked on a poem to go with a tale about a new, courageous character he had recently thought up named Danger Dog:
Danger Dog flew through the thunder and lightning
While his flashlight steadily lost all its brightening.
No, no, that’s awful, he thought. He crossed it out and tried again:
Danger Dog flew through the thunder and lightning,
Even though his undies were steadily tightening.
Much worse! He crossed it out and tried once more:
Danger Dog flew through the thunder and lightning.
He knew he must win though the journey was frightening.
Yes! Much better, he told himself.
Sam yearned for a dog, but his mother refused, so he dreamed up a loyal, trustworthy, and brave dog of his own. Sam thought of himself as loyal and trustworthy, but he knew he had trouble being brave. Though he dreamed of being fearless, or at least brave enough to do what the other kids did, his imagination kept getting in the way.
Through Sam’s eyes, all the boys who played kickball towered nine feet above him and kicked the ball so hard they bashed holes in the school’s concrete walls. Sam imagined that his teacher soared fifteen feet above him so terrifyingly that even Sam’s pencils ran away. To Sam the principal resembled a toupee-wearing Tyrannosaurus rex, who lumbered down the hall with feet so big he could crush a kid like a bug.
Sam persuaded himself that the slide in the playground would accelerate him to the speed of light and blast him through the space-time dimensional rift (whatever that was). He imagined the chains on the swings would turn into anacondas, wrap themselves around his neck, and choke him to death. Such things never happened to the other kids, and Sam himself played on the slide and swings. But he couldn’t stop picturing those horrible things happening to him. Because of his fears, Sam stayed in the shadows and dreamed up stories.
Even after school, when all the other kids saw a bus pull up to the curb, Sam saw a giant yellow kid eater, with the door as its mouth. He watched in horror as his classmates climbed heedlessly into the beast’s diesel-scented maw, but he forced himself to board the bus anyway so he could get home.
Late that warm autumn afternoon, Sam lay on his stomach on the boulder in his back yard. A small section of the giant white and tan rock, about 40 feet long and about five feet high, rose above the surrounding lawn. Sam’s dad told him that the bolder was a left-over from the last ice age, but Sam didn’t care. He just liked sitting on it and imagining that it was a rocket ship to far off places.
He rested his chin on his hands and gazed at tiny green insects fluttering through the air, their gossamer wings glowing in the last thin rays of autumn daylight.
He tried to think of a good villain for his Danger Dog story. Sam believed that evil people were easy to spot. After all, in comics and cartoons they looked so obviously wicked. Sam thought about making Danger Dog’s enemy similar to the vile characters in the comics. He would make his bad guy Bug Man, a huge, six-legged monster with shiny green armor, enormous muscles, a window-shattering voice, and glowing yellow bug eyes.
As Sam lay there absorbed in thought, his dad, a tall, rumpled man with a ready smile and big, gentle hands came home from work. He ambled over and said, "Hey Sam, I’ve got a surprise for you. Let's get in the car."
As they strolled to the car, Sam’s dad said, “You’ve worked hard these past few months and did your chores every day without being asked. So, I’ve finally convinced your mother that you are responsible enough to get a puppy from the pound.”
“Yes!” Sam shouted with glee. He danced around the lawn, and sang a song he had made up hoping this day would come:
A dog! A dog! I’m gonna get a dog!
I might just go and name him Spot.
I’ll pick up poop that stinks a lot.
We’ll swim together when it’s hot.
We’ll play all day until we drop.
We’ll take long naps upon my cot.
A dog, a dog, a dog!
Sam’s dad laughed and applauded.
“I’ll take really good care of him,” Sam added. “Can I get any dog I want?”
“Yes, but remember, we want a healthy one. We can’t afford big vet bills.”
“Are we going now?”
“Yep."
“Yahoo!”
As they walked to the car Sam’s dad gave him a little tickle under the chin. Sam giggled and hugged his dad.
- Writer
