Story: Between Two Worlds

Henry points his finger at a cloud. He imagines the cotton feel on the tip of his finger. A butterfly passes close to his face. He likes the yellow ones on his grampa’s farm. His father called grampa grumpy. He didn’t look grumpy to Henry.

He sees a flash of his mother–her dark hair and eyes. He hears her whisper. Henry turns his head and sits up. His chubby five-year-old fingers try to pick pieces of grass off his new shirt and pants. He looks back over the field to the shadow trees.

His mother taught him about shadow trees. They protect each other and when people look at them from a distance, they hide in shadow. She told him each tree has a secret sound. Henry’s father laughed and said it was the wind.

The trees are hiding. Henry can tell. He hears his mother. He holds his hands over his ears until the whisper leaves and he hears only the wind. Henry’s attention moves back to the sky, the clouds and a red-tailed hawk gliding overhead.

Henry’s grampa is teaching him bird names. The whisper returns. He holds his breath and waits. His mother’s voice tries to reach him, but he won’t let it. He squeezes his eyes shut to concentrate and he smells the lotion made out of roses that his mother puts on her hands.

“Go away!” He opens his eyes, looks at the clouds. He points his finger at a cloud. The sky is distant, a million miles away. He can’t touch the cloud no matter how hard he tries.

“What are you doing here? Everyone’s looking for you.” Donald kneels down next to his little brother and helps Henry tuck in his shirt.

“You know Mommy’s in heaven. Right?”

“No she’s not.” Henry’s eyes are unwavering and as dark as the shadow trees.