Month: May 2018

Son of God – another snippet

The Fourth Looks Like a Son of God

“Then the fire of the Lord fell, and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood, and the stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench,” (1) I read.

You can do anything! I tell my Friend as the man begins sermonizing.

“They thought God was like Baal,” says the man. “But Baal was just wood. God is not wood.”

He leans over and hits Charles, “You better pay attention to this! It’s for your good and you need it.”

“God can send down fire any time He wants. He has the power and will punish you.” He swivels his head and points his finger as his glare reaches each of us. “You have to be like Elijah and trust Him and no one else.” He catches his breath, “Are there any questions?”

“What is a Son of God?” I ask.

“Jesus is the Son of God,” the man says.

“Was Jesus in the fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego?” My mouth relishes the hard kh’s and slows so I say bed-nego and not ben-dego.

“That’s Daniel,” the man says. He flips the pages of his Bible. “God sends an angel to help Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.” He says “ben-dego”.”

“The one who looks like the Son of God isn’t Jesus?” My eyes try to bore into the man’s mind.

“No,” he says. “Jesus is in the New Testament. In Daniel, the Son of God is an angel.”

“Oh,” I say.

Weren’t You there? I ask as the man begins his long, long prayer.

(1) 1 Kings 18:38, KJV

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Christmas – A Snippet


Footsteps creaking on the stairs wake me. It is dark outside. I am alone in the girl’s bedroom. I dress in robe and slippers and creep down to the living room. The woman sits in her big, tapestry chair. The other children are opening packages. I find a spot to sit.

“It’s Christmas!” Ames crows to me.

“This is for you.”

She pushes a large box towards me. I rip the paper away and open the box. Inside is a pile of folded clothes.

Marie is opening a box. She lifts a dress with a black top and striped skirt. A white tag is attached to one sleeve.

“What’s this?,” she asks.

Her eyes are shining. She reaches into a distended pocket and pulls out a small box.

“Open it,” the woman replies.

Her eyes are shining. A big smile lights her face. Marie opens the box.

“A watch!” she cries.

“You wanted one,” the woman says.

“Oh thank you, Mommy!” Marie jumps up and hugs the woman. “I love my Christmas presents.”

“You must thank your father too.”

“I will,” Marie says.

I rifle through the box of clothes. Is there a small box for me?

I shake out each garment: pants, two skirts, two sweaters, a dress, a jacket. Some have small mended areas. There are no tags. There is no small box.

Clothes, I tell my Friend.

“This is also for you.”

The woman hands me a small package and a filled stocking. Claire is removing a big silver bow from a pink hula hoop.

I tear away the paper. It is a red yoyo.

A kazoo, a small puzzle, and a small, white, leather covered New Testament fill the top of the stocking. Candy, an apple, and a clementine fill the rest of the stocking.

“Do you like your gifts,” the woman asks.

My head down, I say, “Yes.”

“You really needed clothes,” she says.“

I know.” My head stays bowed.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” the man booms as he descends the stairs.

The children run to him. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Thank you Rev. O!”

They compete in displaying their Christmas gifts for him.

“Aren’t you going to thank your father?” the woman asks.

I walk over to him, He is sitting on one of the bottom of the steps.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice small.

“I Wanna Bi-i-te You!”

“Bébé! I didn’t hurt you!”

“Why are you in here alone?” the man asks. “Come read in the living room.”

I carry my book into the other room. Marie practices the piano. The woman embroiders a cloth while watching Claire sew. I sit in the rocker. Under cover of my book, I suck my thumb.

“Take your thumb out of your mouth!” the man says.

I pull my thumb out and continue reading.

“I’ll just have to eat them all up.” The man is sitting on the floor with Ames. He bites his leg.

Ames gushes, “Do it again, daddy! Do it again!”

The man nips his legs again.

He looks up and sees me watching, “Come here. Let me see your legs.”

I remain still. He grabs my arm and pulls me onto the floor. He pushes up the leg of my jeans and bites me.


I push at him, struggle to escape. He puts one leg over my body. I continue to struggle.

He smacks my thigh, “That doesn’t hurt you! Ne fais pas le bébé!”
He bites me again. And again.

I sink my teeth into the part of his leg that is exposed between his sock and trouser. He jumps.

I sob, “I wanna bi-i-te you! I wanna bi-i-te you!”

The man hold me at arms length, laughs, “I wanna bi-i-te you!” He smacks my bottom. “Bébé! I didn’t hurt you! Go change for bed.”

The woman’s voice stalks me as I limp away, “I wanna bi-i-te you!”

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