In his slumber, Hans had a dream. They were at Sunday
school, only it was at a church he hadn’t seen around town. It was small,
modest, plain, and dark. A creepy cemetery spread in front of the church
through a small courtyard which (evidently) doubled as a recess area.
Trey, Greta, and several other children were sitting around with marbles,
jacks, and playing cards. The teacher entered the room, only it appeared
that this teacher was a substitute. He wore a strange hound’s-tooth
jacket with patches on the elbows and fingerless gloves, singing a strange
playful tune as he took control of the audience.
“If all you do is work all day,
How then will you grow stronger?
You all must learn to laugh and play
And learn to do it longer.”
As he
sang, he danced nimbly around the room, removing his patchy coat and hat to
hang on a coatrack at the front of the room. From within the pockets, he
produced a small flute which he played to accompany his odd opening number.
His rhythmic dancing was contagious, and it didn’t take long for the
children to start swaying in time. He continued:
“For when you sing, forget these things, Let’s leave them all behind.
And when you play, your heart will stay
At ease inside your mind.” He played a little segue and bowed. “Good morning, children,” the gentlemen stated. “My name is Mr. Westcaper.”
“Hello, Mr. Westcaper,” the children chimed.
“I will be your teacher, nay, your mentor, in today’s
lessons, and – Oh, I do have a surprise for you…”
“What is it?” came from all directions.
“Today we’re going,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect,
“on a field trip!” The class erupted in cheers.
“When are we going?” a child posed.
“Why right now! They are expecting us, you know!” Every
face was shining and happy. He skipped gingerly back over to the
coatrack, put his hat and coat back on, and darted out the door to lead the
children away. Students pranced everywhere through the small churchyard. The
earth in the cemetery was a deep green loam that sank as they walked along
merrily.
“Where are we going?” Trey asked.
“Today, we get to explore,” Mr. Westcaper announced, adding
a flourish of mystery with a wave of his hands, “the mines…”
“The mines?” some of the kids asked, “They don’t let us
down there.”
Greta and Trey followed the group down a path as Mr.
Westcaper led the group toward a dark tunnel. “Ah, but today is a very special
day,” he replied. “Today is Hamburger Day in the cafeteria!”
More cheers and applause come from all around. Trey glanced
at his sister, but she was lost in excitement for Hamburger Day. With clueless
abandon, the children followed the musical substitute down the tunnel, further
and further into darkness. As they near a curve in the tunnel, a light
source appears. They approach a well-lit mine elevator which plunges down
deeper into the seemingly endless abyss expanding before them. They all enter
the rickety contraption and ride it down for what feels like forever, until
they come to a level that has an earth floor. A large industrial building
appears before them, perhaps a warehouse or a service entrance to some large
office building. At the base of the building, a plain set of steel double-doors
sat, locked and chained. Brilliant silver chains, links as thick as ropes,
bound the door shut.
“Oh, drat!” Mr. Westcaper declared.
“What’s wrong?” the children cried.
“The door is shut and locked,” reported Mr. Westcaper, “and
I swear I arranged all of this yesterday.” He rubbed a grubby paw on his chin
in frustrated thought.
“But it’s Hamburger Day!” some children started. “You
told us we were going on a field trip!” cried others.
“Well, we just have to get in, that’s all there is to it,”
Mr. Westcaper announced. “Someone must find a way!” And then he looked
directly at Hans. “You, lad!” He pointed at him.
“Me?” Hans stammered.
“Yes, you!” he urged. “You’ll do fine, I’m positive, you’re
perfect.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Well, why don’t you try and get us in?”
So Trey approached this door, examined the chains, and
found them to be weak and crumbly; more for show, it appeared. Confused, he
crumbled off the silver chains, opened the door, and just like that, Hans woke
up.
***
It’s hard for Trey to remember exactly what had happened,
and then to separate it from the dream. Now his arms and legs are slowly
coming back to life. Sleep drains from his body in a slow leak,
consciousness returning in waves of familiarity. His mother, sitting in a
chair, awkwardly rests her head on the hospital bed next to him as she gently
dozes. Trey raises his hand and places it on her hair. His mom’s
head raises softly, a spider web of pinstripes from the hospital sheets spun
across her cheek like a strange tattoo.
“Hey, baby,” she coos, wiping away a tear, “you’re awake!”
She kisses her son on the face and hands, fixing his hair, glowing with
relief.
“Nurse,” a soothing baritone calls from the doorway, “he’s
awake.”
“What happened?” Trey asks, more than a little disturbed by
his surroundings.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the voice speaks again,
sounding serious. His father stands resolutely in the corner, postal
worker’s cap covering dark eyes, denim-and-sheepskin jacket.
“You tell your sister where you went?” he asks. He snorts a
mean sarcastic chuckle and shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Trey whines. “I didn’t mean to –”
“-Stop. Okay?” He comes into the light and takes off his
hat, all the intimidation and intensity melting away to reveal sensitive grey
eyes behind round glasses. “I love you, son.” He moves close to hug the boy.
“You had your mother so worried! You’re my son. Kay? My only
son.” He pulls him back to look at his face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” he
admits, leaning down to kiss his forehead and cheek.
“What happened?” Trey repeated, more curious than
concerned.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Jan answered. “The
important thing is that you’re okay.”
Dale took his hat off and knelt beside the bed to kiss his
son’s hand as Jan kissed his forehead. “We thought we lost you, boy,” Dale
stammered in a rare display of emotion. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” The couple
quietly wept for a few moments while Trey lay confused, wondering whether or
not he would start to cry, too. Tears welled up in his eyes as they all shared
a warm embrace.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Hans choked out. Alarm
bells had started to ring in his head.
Jan stretched in her chair as Dale moved back to the
corner, giving room for the approaching nurse. “The nurses need to take a look
at you, babe, you lost a lot of blood,” Jan admitted. Dale stood with his arm
around the shoulder of his wife as they both looked down on their only son.
“Blood? What?” he blurts.
“Well, just a little bitty nosebleed,” a friendly nurse
chimed warmly. “You worried a few people, didn’t you?” Dale and Jan laughed
nervously, silently thanking the nurse for her bedside manner. “I just have to
check a few things,” she added. With a practiced hand, she slipped a cuff
around his arm to check his blood pressure and shined a flashlight in his eyes
quickly to check dilation. She looked down his throat and checked his reflexes,
noting that there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s no head
injury, and no need for an IV,” she commented as she scribbled on a clipboard,
“or evidence of any other symptoms that might be cause for alarm.” Dale sighed
heavily. “But I think we’ll keep you overnight, just to be safe.” She stood
back and folded her arms around her clipboard.
Dale shook the nurse’s hand in thanks while Jan leaned down
to kiss his forehead. “Oh, hallelujah, thank God, thank God, hallelujah,
thank God,” she repeated, a deep mantra that she quietly whispered in Jeremy’s
ear. The nurse glanced at her clipboard and stepped out of the room. It was
just then that Trey noticed a policeman standing in the corner of the room.
“We’ll need a statement from the kid,” he stated.
“I understand,” Dale replied. Dale turned and looked at
Officer James Malloy, a childhood friend and trusted ally. His fiery red bottle
brush moustache poked out from all angles like a shotgun blasted red hair
straight out his nostrils.
“Of course,” the officer continued, “I think that can wait
‘til morning.” He reached over to put his hand on Jan’s shoulder. “Glad the
kid’s okay.”
“Thanks, Jimbo,” Dale replied. “Don’t know what I’d do
without you.”
“Or where you’d be?” Jimbo’s eyes glittered a bit. “What in
hell brought you out here, anyway?” He laughed heartily.
“Someone had to take on Old Man Stull’s torch,” Dale
replied. Old Man Stull was none other than John Stull, himself – a man whose
legacy was stamped with the permanence of having the town named after him, a
fact that Dale held with great disdain. The story of how the rural
farming community turned into a bustling postal center captured about as much
of Dale’s interest as dry toast. It was the necessity – no, it was the money –
that brought Dale out here. To move up from Mailroom Foreman in Topeka to Chief
Postmaster in Stull was a huge deal for his family, he reminded himself, and
the family is much better off here: bigger house, nice forty-acre plot, and the
kind of quiet that only the rolling plains of rural Kansas can offer.
“Besides, misery loves company, right?”
“Right,” Dale smiled. “Sorry I didn’t get a hold of you
sooner.”
“Aw, no big deal,” the mustache answered. “We’ll catch up
soon enough.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I just hoped it wouldn’t be like this.”
“It’s the most excitement we seen in this town in a while,”
Jimbo agreed.
“We need to have dinner or something.”
“Tomorrow night sound good?”
“Sure. Jan can whip something up.”
“Better than I could.”
“Now, that would be misery,” Dale jabbed, smiling.
