The Child

By Colin Livers

When Chris Williams enters his freshman year of college, he finds out what it means to be lonely. Like everyone, he wants to love and be loved. Unable to relate to the people around him, he looks for love in God and religious experience. If he is to make it through his first semester of college and ultimately life, he must rely on his faith and the visions he has of a child named Hannah, who loves him and shows him that God truly is love. Hannah, the spiritual form of a little girl with blonde hair, becomes his only friend. She's kind to him, talks to him, and keeps him from being lonely by appearing in visions that give him great joy and solace. But are these experiences a kind of sickness? And will he ever mature or forever remain a child?

 

Fully aware of his social problems, he wonders what the reality of the world will do to him and if he will be able to survive. He's twenty-four as he recounts his one semester in college, and although he is sustained by his visions of love, he sees himself ending up homeless. He feels he has to try to do something with his life, and because he was unsuccessful in college, he conceives of a greater purpose. His life will be dedicated to preaching a message of faith that he believes he's received from God, a teaching that has saved him from despair and that will bring happiness and peace and love to the world. The real question is whether or not he will finally succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin Livers
• Release date: Jul 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736703625

Book preview

The Child

––––––––

Colin Livers

Copyright © 2018 by Colin Livers

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PoorBirds Press

ISBN 978-1-7367036-2-5

To all God’s children

The Child

Contents

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

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author

1

FOR ME it was either find a reason to go on living or don’t go on living. God was the reason and still is, even though God is not a reason, of course, since God is beyond reason, which is what makes God a personal God. God, this is my personal life. Look at it. Look at the child.

I almost didn’t make it through the first day of fifth grade. Sometimes I got in trouble at school, but for the most part I tried to behave. I’d recently transferred to a new school. That was my mother’s idea. I was forced to leave all my old friends. Whenever I thought of them, I felt an intense longing, wanting to return.

I stood in line outside the door of my classroom, staring down at the new pair of white tennis shoes I’d asked my mother to buy for me. I wanted to make a good impression on my fellow classmates. I craved the acceptance of everyone around me. The year before, I’d asked my mother to buy me some shoes made of garish red leather, and when I wore them to school the next day, one of my friends said they were ugly. He wasn’t really a friend. But after that, I never wore them again. I stuffed them under my bed, with the old magazines and the dust. I was sad I couldn’t wear them anymore. My mother had spent a lot of money on those shoes—for nothing. They were useless, gone entirely to waste.

While I was standing there, waiting in line with my eyes cast down, I suddenly felt a sensation like a hammer hit my leg and caught a glimpse of a flashing black shoe. I’d chosen to wear shorts, revealing my thin, pale legs. Someone had brutally kicked me in the shin, leaving a throbbing pain. I looked in front of me and saw a hefty boy with beady eyes and ears that stuck out. He was grinning like a sickening clown. I had no idea why I’d been kicked. It made no sense. I’d done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. The monstrous figure in front of me turned back around as if his work had been completed. I was confused, bewildered. I couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to hurt me for no reason.

Granted, there are worse things that can happen, but this was my first experience of unprovoked viciousness from another human being. I felt like crying and running away, even though I knew there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but endure. I remained where I was. I wanted to start bawling right there. I wanted to scream. But I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be seen as a coward. I can cry when I get home, I thought. The idea of telling on the boy didn’t enter my mind. I was too humiliated, and I knew that the bully, with his solid build, would pummel me into further submission if I told on him. I made an effort to hold onto my shattered dignity, hoping I wouldn’t be bothered again. The truth is, I felt partly responsible for the attack. I don’t know why.

Almost everyone else in line was talking, chattering away, unaware of my pain. I glanced over my shoulder, taking notice of the other children and how easily they seemed to be making the adjustment to the new school year. I was incredibly timid, especially in uncertain surroundings. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make any friends at my new school—and, of course, the kick in the shin hadn’t helped. I walked into the classroom with the others and found a seat, making sure I sat as far away as possible from that maniac who’d assaulted me as soon as he’d seen me. It was like he was welcoming me to the world, saying, This is how it is now.

I looked around, seeing the desks arranged in neat rows. A few posters hung from the walls, pictures of dead men, mostly presidents. I noticed perspiration beginning to gather under my arms. Only a few windows were open in the hot, stuffy room. I realized at that moment how difficult it was going to be for me at my new school. I used to enjoy going to my old school. I used to love being there with my friends. I used to be happy playing during recess, racing up and down the blacktop, showing off my impressive speed. I was the fastest kid on the playground. But now I was alone, my stomach tied in an anxious knot. I didn’t know anyone, and no one seemed interested in knowing me. Looking down at my leg, I saw a scrape where I’d been kicked. I peeled the skin off, anticipating a festering bruise that would soon form for no fault of my own. Or was I somehow at fault? My leg throbbed uncontrollably. More than the physical injury, though, I was embarrassed to have been singled out for abuse, especially on the first day. I felt damaged, and I didn’t know how I was ever going to recover.

The classroom was filled with a harsh, fluorescent light. I looked at the teacher. She had on an excessive amount of makeup, including bluish-purple mascara, globs of it. I concentrated my attention for at least a full minute on her face until it became absurd. The frizzy-haired woman sensed my stare, and before I could shift my gaze, she shot me a look. I overreacted, turning my head swiftly toward the door. I gotta get outta here, I thought. I was sitting in the last row in the back, on the right side of the room. I felt trapped, like a bird with an injured wing trying to fly to an unknown destination. I wanted to escape. Why did I agree to switch schools? I asked myself. I should’ve stayed where I was. I could be talking and laughing it up with my friends right now if Mom hadn’t made me come to this place.

I looked at the clock, high on the wall by the ceiling, above the rows of smooth white-brick tiles. The teacher must’ve seen where my eyes were resting because she said, Young man, the day hasn’t even begun yet. She had a point. I was going to have to somehow lose awareness of the passage of time. For now, each second ticked away as if in slow motion. The teacher then began her introduction, which was mostly just rules, like having respect for those around us or not talking without raising your hand. We’d all heard this before, but the woman had one of those voices that make you pay attention. She spoke with absolute authority, like a drill sergeant. I couldn’t help contrasting her remarks about respecting others with the punishment I’d just received. The teacher appeared in light of my suffering as a prison warden calmly lecturing about procedure while just a few moments before, a weakly felon had been beaten and bloodied by a fellow inmate. School wasn’t supposed to be like this, I didn’t think. We weren’t supposed to be prisoners.

I’d been brought up in the Catholic Church, but I didn’t know anything about formal religion, only prayer. As I sat there wounded and isolated in the back of the room, I made a sincere effort to pray. I asked for help. Please God save me, I cried in my heart. I can’t explain what went on within me. While my attention was focused on salvation, the teacher finished her monologue and gave us our first assignment. She wanted us to find a partner and introduce ourselves and then afterwards, when we’d become acquainted, to introduce our partner to the rest of the class. I saw with a sinking feeling that everyone was already gathering up into partnerships, finding suitable companions. I was lagging behind the others. If I didn’t find someone to work with soon, I feared I’d be separated from everyone for the rest of the year. What was worse, up until this time I’d always felt popular, loved.

You in the back. What’re you doing? asked the teacher. She saw how I sat terrified, unable to move from my seat. My hands were sweating, and I was worried I might have to touch someone else’s hands. I tried to ignore the teacher, which was hardly possible. She was right there. Her eye makeup made me afraid of her. But I had to answer her since she kept on noticing me. What is your name back there? she bellowed, leaning forward from her oversized wooden desk. Her tone was severe and impatient.

Chris, I said, tentatively, but loudly enough for her to hear.

Chris, why don’t you have a partner yet?

I . . . don’t know.

I ventured forth from my seat and scoured the back rows for anyone who’d agree to be paired with me, but no one would even look in my direction. You would’ve thought I had the plague. The teacher looked at me pityingly and by so doing brought a lump into formation in my throat. I wanted to be like the rest of my classmates, capable of relating to those around me instead of being an outcast. The teacher asked the class if anyone besides me had yet to find a partner. No one but me, it seemed, was left. Seeing I couldn’t hide anywhere, I went to the front of the room and stood limply by the woman who’d all the sudden become a mother figure to me, though she didn’t know it.

What’re we gonna do with you? the teacher asked. I could tell she wasn’t actually angry with me, just disappointed. I glanced at her, and my hands began to tremble. While standing by her side, in front of all the other kids in the room, I looked over at the boy who’d kicked me earlier. He was talking calmly, straddling a blue plastic chair on the left side of the room, his back to me. He’d destroyed my self-worth. It’s not fair, I thought. But then I began to think, again, that maybe it was my own fault for getting kicked, that I must’ve been the one who’d done something wrong to provoke him. He must’ve perceived my fear, or my lack of confidence, and attacked, like a wild animal that scents weakness in humans who trespass into the wilderness. If only I could’ve disappeared completely. At least the boy hadn’t turned around and seen me examining him. I was sure he would’ve begun mocking me. Then I might’ve run out of the room. But thankfully, before he discovered me staring at him, the teacher, my protector, led me over to a group of two girls near the front of the room, on the left side by a spider plant with its long leafy tentacles.

Do you mind if he joins you? the teacher asked the girls, who shook their heads. I sat down, without thinking, on the floor, with my legs crossed. The gray carpet, although not cushiony, allowed me some comfort. I felt as though I’d left the room, and with the rest of the kids in their chairs and my head below them near their midsections, I truly had vanished. If I could’ve stayed hidden from the eyes of my fellow students, I might’ve been happy. I welcomed the invisibility. But the teacher gave me a harsh look and wheeled her black office chair over from her desk for me to sit in. Although I would’ve protested, before I had an opportunity, she ordered me to stand and pressed my shoulders until I sat down in her seat, which was higher than the rest of the chairs in the classroom. Stationed in full view of everyone, I couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. In order to appear less noticeable, I moved closer to the girls, who paid little attention to me. Since I’d merged with a group, I no longer cared for any acknowledgment. All I wanted now was total anonymity.

Your name’s Chris, right? asked the girl closest to me, her arm casually brushing against my shoulder. I looked at her like an imbecile. The sounds that form into words rattled in a vacuum somewhere miles from my throat. Don’t you talk?

Maybe he’s dumb, said the other girl. Another bully, I thought.

My name’s Hannah, said the nice girl. Her voice was gentle and caring. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I can do most of the talking for you, but I need to know something about you. I detected a sort of playful indulgence in her tone, but I may’ve been mistaken. Either way, she lifted me up into a slightly less preyed upon posture. I was feeling more comfortable, that is until the other girl, sneering, told Hannah not to talk to me. I felt like I’d just been slapped. I can talk to him, said Hannah defiantly. Hearing this, my spirit gained new life.

Hannah was enveloped in brilliant light. She wore a pink summer dress that went below her knees, looking to me like she’d just stepped out of a church on an immaculate Easter Sunday. And her hair. It was sunny blonde and lovely. Because of my weakness, I sought to cling to her all the more. She had a natural independence about her which in turn drew dependence from me. I couldn’t stop looking at her and could barely disguise my desperate feelings. It was like we were swimming together in a lake, even though I couldn’t swim. But she could. I had to hold onto her if I didn’t want to drown. Although she hadn’t yet shown the type of kindness and mercy I expected from God, I felt she was at least willing to be fair towards me. In a way, she was the only goodness I’d seen so far, the only love in a hateful world.

Are we all ready? the teacher asked. Gradually the raucous interaction among the groups came to a halt. I tapped Hannah on the shoulder, and she turned to me with joyful, bubbling blue eyes. I cupped my hand over her ear and whispered some words about the necklace she was wearing. She nodded her head in acceptance while a soothing smile broke out on her sweet face, just for me. My head swam with renewed vigor. Unfortunately, what Hannah had resurrected within me was short-lived. The teacher declared unapologetically that our group would begin the round of introductions.

Shyness had victimized me probably since I was old enough to talk. I was extremely shy when put in front of a group with the expectation that I could speak freely in front of glaring, judgmental eyes. My difficulties were easily overcome if I knew the people I was talking to, if they were friends or family, but I could barely contemplate saying anything before strangers. My only consolation was that Hannah had promised me I wouldn’t have to speak for the most part, that she’d speak for me. As much as I appreciated her gesture, I would’ve preferred being able to speak for myself. I realized my limitations, yet I didn’t want to believe I was the one who had those limitations. Someone else, an intruder, had entered into me and thrown me out into oblivion, where no one could reach me, not even my own self, which had been silenced by the abyss. I wanted to fight against whatever had taken away my ability to relate to my peers, but even if I knew how to do that, I would’ve been at war with myself, and you can’t win that battle, at least not by yourself.

Let’s start over here with our group of three, the teacher said, meaning us. I ducked my head, hoping to deflect attention, but the teacher, through malice or indifference to my condition, called upon me to begin by introducing Hannah and the other girl whose name I didn’t even know. I froze, becoming a statue of skin. Hannah prodded me, and the other girl rolled her eyes when I looked over at her. I then unknowingly spluttered forth a few despairing sounds that went unheard around the now disturbing quiet of the classroom.

What? said the teacher. We didn’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.

I said . . . um . . .

Try again, said Hannah, in a whisper.

With her encouragement, I knew I could do it. Pointing to the golden-haired child beside me, I said, Her name is Hannah.

And tell us something about her, said the teacher.

She’s nice! I blurted out effusively, making the class explode in laughter.

Quiet down, said the teacher roughly. After that, the other groups leveled off to the normal classroom chatter, with muffled giggling. I looked at Hannah to see if she’d approved of what I’d said, but she was already in the act of talking. She was telling the class my name and saying I didn’t talk much but that was okay with her. The other girl wasn’t asked to give her opinion of me, apparently since I’d already been mentioned and wasn’t interesting enough to waste any more time on. In truth, I didn’t care if anyone ever spoke to me again as long as Hannah believed in me, as long as she felt the same way about me as I did about her. I had noticed she wore a silver cross, that eternal symbol, which lay visible before my eyes like a single star in the night sky. I thought about how she might’ve received it as a gift on her First Communion after she’d knelt in prayer and walked down the aisle in blessed innocence.

I like your necklace, I’d told Hannah. That’s what I’d whispered to her.

After that first strange hour of good and evil was over, the day passed by uneventfully—until lunchtime and recess. The cafeteria had rectangular brown collapsible tables set in parallel columns, filled with loud, obnoxious kids, who’d come surging from the classrooms. The lunch aides were making sure no one got too rowdy. A number of students brought lunch bags with them from home, but I ate the cafeteria food, the kind of processed, low-grade diet you eat in jail. After standing in line, waiting with a rumbling stomach, I made it to the front and put a burger on my tray, picked up a bag of fries, and grabbed a carton of milk from a plastic, refrigerated container. The lunch lady took my brand-new pink food card and punched a hole in it. I’d paid for my meal.

I looked around the cafeteria, hoping for the opportunity to find a seat where I could eat without disaster. But everywhere I looked, I saw unapproachable faces conspiring against me, trying to keep me from sitting down and putting sustenance in my body. I couldn’t see any place to sit where I wouldn’t be immediately put down and derided, laughed at or shunned. I honestly wasn’t concerned with making friends at this point. I simply wanted to eat and get through the rest of the day, but what I saw before me, the antagonism surrounding me from every direction, assured me I wouldn’t be able to sit down anywhere. I’d have to stand in the middle of that deafening room and eat upright while they all pointed at me as if I were a nightmarish spectacle in the midst of their otherwise pleasant dream. If I could just escape somehow, I thought. Then I saw Hannah.

She was seated next to a group of girls, drinking a chocolate milk. The other girls weren’t paying much attention to her, so I decided to see if she’d permit me to sit by her. We were partners during class, and since she was so kind to me then, I figured she might extend her compassion into much-needed lunchroom hospitality. I was about three feet away from her when she looked over at me and shook her head. I knew exactly what that meant, but I couldn’t believe she’d treat me that way after I’d made her into almost a deity earlier. But there was no mistaking her gesture. The girls she was sitting by weren’t aware of what she’d just done. They hadn’t seen. I could tell they were the reason why Hannah had rejected me. She didn’t want to be around me when she was around them. I was a loser in their eyes—and hers too, it seemed.

I looked down at my tray of wretched food that’d have to be consumed in the loneliest spot in the cafeteria, by the garbage cans, where the custodian was putting new plastic bags in the recyclable containers. I was lucky to find a spot at all. I went over and sat at the end of the table, far away from the nearest person, a boy with a buzz cut. He took no notice of me sitting there stooped over, eating as fast as I could.

A couple tables had been dismissed, and the students were making their way out to recess. When I was finished, I stood up and peered across the crowded cafeteria to Hannah’s table, but I couldn’t see her. She doesn’t want to see me anyway, I thought. Now I had absolutely no one. If Hannah was only going to talk to me in class, when she had to, I would rather she didn’t talk to me at all, I was thinking. I understood now what had happened during first hour. She’d just been following directions, talking to me because the teacher said she had to. Maybe she’d also seen how lonely I’d been without a partner. But the cafeteria was different. This was a setting where her decision to befriend me would be held against her. She was on her own here, and so was I. That was why she sent me away with that headshake. She had herself to think of and didn’t care one way or another if I lived or died. God, that can’t be true, can it?

With my eyes plastered to the floor, I dumped what was left of my lunch into the garbage can and headed toward the large double doors, sneaking outside without waiting for a lunch lady to say I could. At my old school, recess had been a constant occasion for joy. We played kickball, dodgeball, basketball, foursquare. Foursquare was the best. My three buddies and I would always be slapping that ball around with such camaraderie. Then sometimes we just stood around and talked. But, unfortunately, the past doesn’t exist. All you have are your memories.

I went over to the generous swath of blacktop, where everyone was playing. Some of them were gabbing in small circles or running haphazardly around with seemingly no worries. I was worried for my life. In the distance, beyond the blacktop, was a playground with a slide and swings, and further beyond that was an open field with a deep green stretch of trees, the wooded area forming a shadowy backdrop. I hurried over to the playground, which was deserted, no one choosing it for recreation yet. While I was walking, I somehow tripped and fell in a path of dirt, which was like a moat that separated the blacktop from the grass. A boy came up to me while I was on my behind. He was bouncing a basketball and asked me if I was all right. I could see he didn’t really care. He had a facetious grin on his face. I didn’t say anything to him, so he scampered off toward his companions to continue their pickup game. I heard snickering in my direction. They were all against me. I thought about how I’d been kicked in the shin earlier that day. I still had hope, but I was losing it.

I got up and went past the playground. A few kids ran by me and occupied the swings. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I wanted to be left alone. That wasn’t really what I wanted, but I told myself I did as a reaction to everything that had happened to me so far. If no one wanted to be my friend, if they all hated me, then I’d have to get used to it. What a life, I said, echoing what my father used to always say at home. "It’s