Sugar

By Kevin Semeniuk

A heartwarming story of love, forgiveness, friendship, and the power of hope.

With no certainty of love or a family to claim him, Poor Boy was destined to end up just as he'd come into the world...alone; until he met Hope. With their willingness to accept each other just as they were and their friendship quickly at the forefront, Hope secures a place in his heart and leads him on a journey in search of a miracle that will forever shape his life. With a short but complicated life surrounded by hardship, tough love, laughter, and warmheartedness, Poor Boy was a determined ten-year-old and thanks to his upbringing, stubborn enough to see things through.

"I started writing this story while I was still working on my first novel, 'Sweeping with God'. I had some ideas that wouldn't leave me alone and I didn't feel would fit in with what I was actively working on, so I decided to follow them and let the story guide me; which is generally how I write anyway and it worked out really well with this story. This was an amazing experience for me and the characters within were really fun to watch rub off on one another, as well as leave me with so much joy and affection for their story." - Author note

"Amazing! 'Sugar' makes you believe in miracles; the characters have you believing in them. I couldn't put the book down, it was amazing!"
- Christine on, 'Sugar'

“Without reservation, I highly recommend ‘Sugar’ by Kevin Semeniuk. From the opening sentence to the last, it was a very compelling story indeed. Three cheers for Hope!"
- Sean on, 'Sugar'

"Another great book written by Kevin Semeniuk. It's funny how we forget the simple things in life; we forget to dream and we don't remember how to love. 'Sugar' brought those important things out of me. The author made it feel like I was the character 'Poor Boy' and it related to events in my own life; whether it was sharing a laugh or wiping a tear, he connects with his readers and you feel the emotions that the characters feel, and that in itself is amazing. I highly recommend this novel."
- Kaled on, 'Sugar'

"This incredible author takes us on a journey of love, compassion, forgiveness and endurance . A story told with a gentle hand, humor, and a great love for his characters and the ability to take us on their adventure with them."
- Barbara on, 'Sugar'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Semeniuk
• Release date: Aug 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370531646

Kevin Semeniuk

Kevin Semeniuk is a Canadian storyteller, and the founder of ‘Fifteen for Hope Publishing and Apparel’.Born in a small Alberta town, Kevin comes from a large family of eight siblings, all raised by a single mother who emotionally and financially took care of their big family all on her own.No stranger to the curveballs that life throws, before even the age of seven his parents had separated, moving him and his siblings to Edmonton with his mother, from where she would drive the family across provinces to visit his eldest brother in prison for what would go on to become years. The family had also started to take in foster children soon after moving to the city, which opened the home to a near revolving door for much of what would be at-risk youth, however, it would also lead to the forming of some of the most important and impactful relationships of his life. This sudden changing way of life inside and out of the home forced Kevin and his young siblings to quickly adapt to whatever circumstance their environment might provide.As Kevin was growing older in a somewhat chaotic setting, he began to spend his time away from home, skipping school and often in search of trouble. During his teenage years, out of shear fear for him continuing down the wrong path, his mother sent him to live with his father, an alcoholic, where he would then have to adapt to living with a cold and hardened man who could go on for weeks without so much as speaking a word to Kevin. Surely somewhere within, his father loved him, however, it was never uttered nor displayed in all the years they lived with one another, leading up to his death, where his body was discovered by Kevin.Kevin, thereafter, spent years distancing himself from his friends and family, often to work in isolation, alone with his thoughts and heartache, learning how to cope with a near broken heart.It was through these traumatic experiences that he was able to find the possibility to pursue change by way of the heart, while coupled with a love he already had for storytelling through poetry - (a love that was sparked at a young age by movies like ‘Stand by Me’ and artists like Sam Cooke) - Kevin furthered his unfolding and turned pain into passion, beginning with what would be his first full length novel, ‘Sweeping with God’.Kevin has since published several collections of poetry and novels through his company, ‘Fifteen for Hope’. His stories are all written under the boundless umbrella of love, each harnessing the ability to gently touch the heart and speak to the soul of his audience, regardless of life story, gender or race. Throughout Kevin’s writing, his words have formed beautiful, heartfelt stories of forgiveness, second chances, the resilience of the human spirit, and beautiful conversations lined with hope. Kevin also shares his gift through poetry, mirroring the darker sides of life, touching on important topics such as human-trafficking, starvation, inequality, war, disease, and the over one-thousand Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women here in Canada; the country Kevin calls home.Though his journey through life has led him down paths that at times he would’ve done anything to change, Kevin has still somehow managed to find a mark of balance and to stay as close to life as possible, which is showcased throughout his literature, writing for the dreamer, and the survivor, filled with hope, in us all.

Book preview

Sugar

Also by Kevin Semeniuk

Collections of Poetry

Love Letters

Hearts of Grace

Tales of Sorrow

In No Particular Order

Love Grace & Sorrow in No Particular Order

Revelation

Novels/Fiction

Sweeping with God

Grace in October

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Author Note

Sugar

Kevin Semeniuk

Copyright © Kevin Semeniuk 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

written permission of Kevin Semeniuk.

Fifteen for HOPE Publishing

Cover design by Pencil Fingerz

Printed and bound in Canada

Fifteen for HOPE

www.kevinsemeniuk.ca

Love

Introduction

For as long as I can remember dreaming was always the one place where I felt the most comfortable; most like the person I was but never had the chance to be. If I could have, I would've spent my entire childhood asleep just to be able to dream beyond the life I was in…until I met Hope.

Chapter 1

When I was just a baby, my mother left me on the front doorstep of my grandparents’ house with a note pinned to my blanket that read, "I kant do this he yurs now". I may never had known about the note but my grandmother had it posted on the refrigerator and moved it up with each inch that I grew so that my eyes were always in view of it. I guess it was her way of reminding me of the burden that I brought upon her life.

My grandmother was very stern in her speech, when she chose to speak, but as far as rules or demands went she was fine so long as my time spent around her or within her tiny house was minimal. My grandfather died nearly a year after I was left with them so I didn’t get to know him at all; at least not that I remember. Our neighbor would tell me stories, as I grew in years, how in love my grandparents were and how after my grandfather died my grand-mother just wasn’t ever the same. They were always adamant, when telling me their stories, to let me know that she wasn’t always a reflection of her current state. I never held anything against her anyway, I wasn’t her child and she was stuck with me. The way I saw it was, at least she kept me, unlike my own mother.

I spent a lot of time with the neighbors, especially the lady of the house, Ms. Violet. I was never enrolled in school so Ms. Violet would spend time with me, teaching me basic writing skills along with some mathematics and odd bits of history. I think most of the history was taught off the cuff though because by the hand of God himself found its way into almost every lesson or story she referred to. I didn’t mind nor did I ever question her lessons, I was always just happy to be there.

Ms. Violet was the kindest woman I’d ever met. Now granted, I'd never spent much time around too many other people but she was sure good to me. Her and my grandparents had been neighbors since the dawn of time as she put it, and she always did everything that she could to nurture me. She taught me manners, showed me how cook a little bit and to wash and dry dishes and even how to scrub stains out of my clothes with a rock and a board. She told me that as long as she had breath in her old lungs, she’d do all that she could to make sure I went out into the world with everything I needed to be a man of respect, and a gentleman, as she would say. I followed her around like a lost puppy whenever she would have me, which was far more often than not.

Her husband’s name was Mr. Charlie; he was just as kind as Ms. Violet only he wasn’t at home as much so his and my time spent together wasn't as frequent. He did teach me a few things though, like how to snare a rabbit and swing an axe. We’d gone fishing quite a few times as well but I didn’t know how to swim, which always kept me pretty close to the waters' edge, and I’d always had a fear of the water; anything outside of a bathtub or shallow puddle anyway.

Mr. Charlie worked at the lumber mill just a few miles away, which worked out well for him because they didn’t have a vehicle, like most folks where we lived, so he would walk every day to and from the mill. Each day he came home to Ms. Violet with a fresh bundle of wild flowers that he’d pick on his walk home. If ever I was around when he got home he’d hold out the flowers for me to pick one or two out and encourage me to take them home to my grand-mother. I assured him that she didn’t have any interest in flowers but he always softly said the same thing, she’ll like ‘em, son, trus' me…every woman likes flowers, then he’d send me on my way. My grandmother could never be bothered with them, just like I said, and she’d toss them out the second I gave them to her, depending on how close to the trashcan she was. I still always gathered them back up or picked them out of the trash and I’d set them in an old can filled with water on the window sill over the kitchen sink. She never bothered with them after that and I’d replace them with fresh one’s every time Mr. Charlie sent me home with some; it was our own little ritual. I think sometimes she fought harder to be miserable than she really was.

Chapter 2

One spring, my grandmother and I were out back planting the garden when a car pulled up the driveway, which was really more of just a beaten path from the odd visitor, and was shared between my grandmother and Ms. Violet and Mr. Charlie’s house. Normally I wouldn’t have paid much attention to such a thing but the driver was honking the horn so rapidly I couldn’t help but watch to see what all the fuss was about. As my grandmother shouted at me to keep seeding and to watch my step as I stumbled across the freshly planted rows, I watched curiously while Ms. Violet walked side-ways down her front steps toward the car. She approached the passenger door and opened it to see inside. I could hear yelling from inside the car, then a woman stepped out from the drivers’ side and opened up the trunk. She pulled out a few pieces of luggage and threw them on the grass then went around to the back door, opened it, and assisted a young girl from the backseat out and onto the driveway. As the girl stepped out Ms. Violet cupped the girls' face in her hands and smothered her with kisses. The woman continued to rant, shouting and waving her hands in the air, al-though I still couldn’t make out what she was saying, until she got back in the car and drove off across my grandmothers’ front lawn.

I stood still, watching, as Ms. Violet blanketed the young girl in her arms, guiding her around to the back of the house and then inside. Ms. Violet made a trip back outside by herself to grab the luggage off the front lawn, and without so much as looking at me or my grandmother, she gathered the few items and went back inside.

Hey, grandma…who’s that? I asked curiously.

"Who’s who?" she snipped back.

That girl…that girl who jus got let off at Ms. Violets’, jus now, I explained as I stared across the yard.

I dunno, and that ain't none 'uh my business…just like it ain't none 'uh yours. We got work to do here, work that I’d like to finish before the sun falls, she replied sharply.

Yes ma’am, I answered softly, knowing her tone.

One thing I never formed a habit of was disobeying or arguing with my grandmother. She was easy to live around for the most part but when she said enough, it was enough. I never pushed her past that and I knew it in her tone, it didn’t take much.

Every few minutes as we continued to seed the soil with hopeful new life I would look up to check on Ms. Violets’ house, curiously, waiting to see someone come outside, but no one did.

My grandmother went into the house shortly before me to fix supper, leaving me to finish up in the garden.

I was hoping Ms. Violet would stick her head outside and call me over to introduce me to her young visitor but she never did. The curiosity and anticipation was killing me. I never thought of myself as a nosey child but I didn’t have any friends and surely never had any visitors of my own, so I was making it my business to find out who this one was.

Once I was finished up in the garden my grandmother called me in for supper.

We sat across from each other, as we always did, not saying much of anything to one another. My mind was next door at Ms. Violet’s house anyway, picturing what was going on in there as I thought of a reason to go visit after dinner.

"Slow-down, boy, you gonna choke…and I ain’t about to give you no smack on the back when you do," my grandmother belted.

Yes, ma’am, I answered softly.

I finished eating as quick as I could and then washed and dried dishes while my grandmother sat at the table filling her old tobacco can with fresh ashes, smoking a cigarette.

Okay, grandma, I’m gonna go outside for a bit…I’m all done, I chirped.

Go on then, she replied.

Thanks for supper, I said as I went out the back door from the kitchen.

"Enough with the racket, jus get," she barked.

Just as I stepped out back I could hear Mr. Charlie walking up to the house. You could never mistake his footsteps dragging across the scattered bits of gravel, as he was such a large man.

As I heard him near I followed up behind him hoping to get an invite inside to meet their guest.

Evenin’, Mr. Charlie, I chirped as I crept up behind him.

"Poor Boy…why you almost scared me straight outta my pants, son…I didn't even hear you comin'," he exclaimed.

Just finished dinner, sir, didn’t mean to startle you, I explained, happy to see him.

No need to be sorry, son, I’m old is all and it don’t take much to gimme a stir, he said, laughing lightly at himself as he patted me on the head.

Nah, I seen old, sir, seen it in church…and you ain't it, I said playfully.

"I'm too old…too old to remember and too tired to try," he chuckled.

You comin' in or you just gonna stand there? he asked of me as I stood waiting for an invite.

I followed his lead and stepped in behind him into the back porch of their home.

As I waited while he hung his jacket I could hear light laughter from the kitchen just on the other side of the door. There were two voices, one familiar and one I hadn’t heard before; a young voice, a girl.

Soundin' like we got some company, Mr. Charlie mumbled as he opened the door leaving the porch.

I was busy trying to see around his large frame to get a first glance at the stranger I had been thinking about all day, but I was out of luck.

Mr. Charlie and Ms. Violet greeted each other, as they always did, with a kiss on the cheek and a few playful words as he handed her a small bundle of freshly picked wild flowers from his walk home. I sat down at the kitchen table and watched her mix something in a bowl as she stood beside the stove where she had supper cooking. There wasn’t a lot of room in the house, much like my grand-mothers’, so my curiosity was growing in anticipation for the young voice to come out from hiding.

Were my old ears playing tricks on me or did I hear another voice when I was hangin' my coat? Mr. Charlie asked of his wife.

"There she is! Baby, you had your grandfather thinking he was losin' his poor mind," Ms. Violet spoke with a great joy.

I turned as I sat in my chair to get a look at the cause of my curiosity. Before she could open her mouth to say anything Mr. Charlie had her wrapped so tight against him in a hug that she was sure to be losing her breath.

I remember the feeling I had as I smiled, watching his expression of love; the entire house lit up, I'm sure of it. I believe that was my first experience witnessing such an honest, and very proud, sharing of love.

It began to make me feel uneasy so I turned back to face the table as they hugged and stayed in their moment for a few minutes, while Mr. Charlie softly spoke to her.

Ms. Violet walked over toward me and rested her hand over mine as I sat quietly at the table. She smiled at me, surely able to sense my sudden feelings of unease, then simply whispered, it’s okay child.

Until that moment I hadn’t ever seen such a pure display of love. Often I would see Mr. Charlie and Ms. Violet being playful and loving with each other and I always knew it was love, but from an adult toward a child, I'd never had a chance to witness before that moment. At first it was quite warming to watch but as I slowly realized that it was something I’d never experienced, it suddenly made me uncomfortable. Even for my age, I very clearly remember the change in thought and then Ms. Violet comforting me, picking up on my emotion.

Sugar, I want you to meet someone, someone real special, our young neighbor, our friend…this here is, Poor Boy, Ms. Violet spoke up as the two parted from their hug.

Why they call you Poor Boy? the girl asked as she turned out from Mr. Charlie’s grip.

'Cause it’s my name, I answered with certainty.

I could feel my face turn red; she was so pretty.

My grandmother, for as cranky and sometimes seemingly miserable as she could be, always wore this one particular perfume. It sat on her chest of drawers in her bedroom next to a picture of my grandfather. I often wondered why she still wore it, because of the obvious contrast between its scent and her, or if maybe she was just wearing it for him; if that was something that he loved about her, her scent, and that was how she kept him near. No matter how she ever treated me, her perfume made her more real; it helped me make some sense of her.

In an instant, that’s how this young girl made me feel, like things just made sense.

Go on, Sugar, introduce yourself, Mr. Charlie spoke up.

I’m ‘uh, I'm Hope, she said softly as she reached out to shake my hand.

I stood to my feet and shook her hand as I smiled, not taking my eyes off of her.

Now, Sugar’s gonna be staying with us for a while, so you two will be seeing a lot of each other, no doubt, Ms. Violet explained as she smiled from ear to ear.

I smiled at Hope until she looked away, shyly, nestling her face against Mr. Charlie’s side.

You be joinin' us for dinner, Poor Boy? Ms. Violet asked.

Please, ma’am, if it ain't no worry, I replied, smiling.

I was still full from the meal I shared with my grandmother, no more than one hour before, but I didn’t want to pass up a moment to be near Hope. I was immediately drawn to her and the new love that filled the air with her arrival.

You know there’s always a place for you at our table, child, she said, smiling, as she patted me on the head.

Yes, ma’am, thank you, I answered, smiling at Hope.

The four of us sat down for dinner, passing around each others’ plate while Ms. Violet loaded them up. The small talk consisted mostly of Ms. Violet and Mr. Charlie speaking about his day at work and them making plans to put their garden in, as they had noticed my grandmother’s being planted. As they talked about how many rows of what vegetables they were going to plant this year, Hope and I were becoming acquainted with each other through silence and shy smiles.

Their house wasn’t all that much bigger than my grandmothers’ but it did have one extra bedroom which was now, by the looks of it, going to be occupied by Hope.

Once our plates were cleared and I was stuffed like an expensive pillow, Mr. Charlie and I cleaned up and did the dishes; he washed and I dried. Hope and Ms. Violet sat at the table just a few feet away from us, talking softly amongst themselves. I could only hear bits and pieces over the clanging of dishes in the sink and Mr. Charlie talking to me. Ms. Violet was consoling Hope, letting her know that she was safe now and that she had nothing to worry about. I was curious to know all about her; where she came from, who she belonged to and why she was now here. In time, I told myself, all my questions and wonders would be answered.

Shortly after we finished up with the dishes it was time for me to go home; we all said goodbye to each other and I left out the back porch.

The sun was ducking down behind the trees and as I neared the house I could smell cigarette smoke wafting from the backyard.

Jus what exactly do ya’ll get into over there anyway? my grand-mother asked as I got close enough to see her sitting out back.

Hi, grandma, I said as I waved to her.

That ain’t no answer…you all 'uh sudden hard ‘uh hearing? she muttered.

No, ma’am…we was jus visiting, that’s all, same as always, I answered calmly.

Oh, well look at you, ain't you clever? she said with her cigarette hanging out one side of her mouth.

No ma’am, I insisted softly as I opened the door and went into the house.

I washed up in the sink, got changed and grabbed my blankets to make my bed on the sofa.

By the time I tucked myself into bed my grandmother had come back in the house and went off to her bedroom.

"G'night, grandma," I shouted, as I always did before bed.

She didn’t reply. She never did but it gave me comfort to say it anyway; it kept me from feeling alone in the house on that old sofa.

I fell asleep smiling about my new neighbor and hopeful soon to be friend.

Chapter 3

The next morning, I was up, had my blankets all folded and put away and had breakfast made for my grandmother before she woke up. I often cooked breakfast for her, mostly when I was able to wake up before her though, so I didn’t have her in my ear the whole time telling me that I was doing it all wrong or nudging me out of the way to do it herself.

Mr. Charlie taught me how to cook breakfast. He said that every woman deserved to have their day begin and end with being appreciated, so that everything