14
There was a river at the back of the property. His grandpa used to bring him out there, and they’d skip rocks and talk. Or sometimes not talk. His grandpa didn’t always feel like talking, really.
But that’s where he decided to go. They hadn’t been there in a long time, not since the previous fall, he thought. So he hoped no one would come looking for him there. That is, at least not for another two hours and some minutes…
And so, blocking out all thoughts, even those of his dad, he ran and ran and ran until he made it through the maze of corn, out the other side of the field, and then down the slight embankment to the very edge of the river. Panting, he dropped to the ground, pulled his legs up to his chest, and buried his head in his knees. His lungs burned from the effort, and his feet ached. And he was cold too, he realized. The morning was chilly, especially for early June, and he shivered as he gripped his knees and tried to stop crying.
In the distance, he heard his mom’s panicked voice calling his name, and guilt bubbled up inside of him.
What was he doing? And, which was worse? This—this making her chase after him, frantically looking for him, worrying and calling his name…? Or possibly giving her false hope—telling her he’d been hearing his dad’s voice, hearing his dad tell him he was on his way home…?
Maybe…maybe this was worse. Maybe he was making everything worse. He stifled a sob and shook his head.
I’m sorry, Mom. I—
<<Kiddo, I’m almost there, really. Please, go back inside. You shouldn’t—>>
<<Leave me alone! I can’t… I don’t know if I can trust you! What if…what if you’re not real?!>>He didn’t want to hear an answer. And so, he screwed his eyes shut and pushed hard against his dad’s presence, imagining a wall surrounding him, blocking out everything. The empty silence returned then, although it seemed to press down on him, straining against the weight of the sounds trying to invade his mind.
And it was hard—to keep the wall up. It took all of his concentration, all of his focus. But it helped him, at least for a while, to ignore the voices—the actual voices—calling his name. And it helped him to forget how cold he was and how hungry he was and…and all the guilt.
However, after some time—he really had no idea how much time had passed or how long he’d been sitting in the same position—it got to be too difficult to keep up the wall, to block everything out, and he dropped his guard a bit.
Immediately, he felt his father’s presence again—a rush of worry and love and fear.
<<Jon, kiddo, are you okay?>>He shook his head in response.
<<Not okay. No. Nothing is okay. Not until you’re home. When will you get here?>> Before his father could answer, he heard his mom and his grandma and his grandpa, all calling him. He felt their fear and his mom’s panic. And he heard her words, repeating over and over in her mind, reaching out to him.
<<God, Jon, where are you? Please, baby, please come back to me.>> Guilt hit him again. Why was he doing this?
His father seemed close to panic now too, and Jon felt him reach out again, his voice measured and gentle but also with a hint of fear.
<<I’m so close, buddy. Only an hour now. Please, kiddo. Your mom is so scared. She needs you.>>She did. She did need him. He knew it. He could feel it.
But he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Instead, he pressed his face to his knees harder and cried. Everything around him swirled. The voices, the thoughts, the feelings all became one single haze, and he could no longer tell everything apart. All he knew was that he hurt too. And he was scared too. And he needed to know for sure.
<<Tell me again, Dad. Tell me. How…how long until you get here? Please.>>The response was immediate and clear.
<<Forty-nine minutes, kiddo.>>
<<I can’t wait that long. I need you now.>>
<<You can. I promise. I’m almost there.>> “No! I can’t! I need you now!” He heard himself sobbing, the sound echoing out across the cornfields behind him.
“Jon?! Oh my God, Jon! Martha, Jonathan, he’s over here!”
A wave of relief—his mom’s relief—overwhelmed him, and when his mom dropped down onto the damp soil next to him, her arms pulling him against her into a tighter hug than he thought he’d ever felt before, he let himself cry into her. And he clung to her again.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I’m…”
“Shh, sweetie. Shh, it’s okay. It’s—it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
<<Forty-six minutes, kiddo.>> “He’s almost here, Mom. But I’m so scared it’s not real. I’m so scared, Mom. Please tell me it’s real,” Jon wept, no longer able to hold it in.
Her voice was kind and soothing as she answered. “Shh, sweetie. Let’s go inside now. Everything is going to be okay. Shh.”
And she lifted him up gently as he continued to cling to her, his eyes shut tightly and his crying muffled into her shoulder. She carried him back to the house, continuing to whisper softly to him the whole way, even as she shook with both fear and relief.
