The Birthday Gift
BY Dick Barrett
REPRINTED WITH PERMISSION.
Dick Barrett is the author of two books, Time Double and Coppers, and offers professional writing services as part of his company, Barrett-Marugg. Check out another of his short stories on this site, The Jade Tiger.
This story of two brothers shows the pain of guilt—and the power of love and redemptive acts.
Three days before his birthday, Tucker Thompson decided to run away from home.
The nine year-old (well, he'd be nine on Tuesday and that was almost the same thing, wasn't it?) slipped from under the covers, careful not to wake five year-old Timmy who was curled into a ball on the other side of the bed. He padded silently across the room and looked out the window, past the barn and across the field to the lights of the highway that bordered their farm on the south.
He had a lot of money saved up in Priscilla. He wasn't sure exactly how much, but it took two hands to lift the ceramic pig from her place on the dresser. There had to be enough for a bus ticket to....
To where?
Tucker rested his chin on his hands and considered his options.
He wasn't sure where he wanted to go but that didn't matter. When you came right down to it, he supposed one place was as good as any other. It was leaving that mattered, not where he went. He'd pick a destination when he got to the bus station and bought his ticket.
Moving as quietly as possible, the boy left the window and went to the closet. He dragged his backpack into the middle of the room and began filling it with clothes from his dresser. He didn't figure he'd need much: a few tee shirts, some socks, his other jeans. When the pack was almost full, Tucker rummaged through the dirty clothes on the floor of the closet until he found a pair of khaki shorts and a knit pullover. He put them on before shoving his bare feet into a pair of sneakers and then stood for a moment, carefully taking inventory. On the other side of the room, Timmy rolled over on his back and Tucker moved next to the bed and looked down at his younger brother.
Timmy was a brat. He was a pain in the ass, always wanting to tag along, always saying stupid things and getting in the way. Tucker stretched out one hand and brushed a wayward strand of hair from the five year-old's forehead.
After he got a job and made lots of money, maybe he'd send for Mom and Tim and Billy and they could all live with him. He'd have a big house and everybody would have their own bedroom. Mom could go back to teaching and she'd be relaxed and laugh a lot. He'd be the man of the house and Mom would always take his side and yell at Billy whenever his older brother tried to tease him. They'd be a family again. They'd be happy.
Just like they were before Dad went away.
The boy sighed and let his hand drop to his side. He moved to the dresser and lifted Priscilla down, then pushed and struggled until the piggy was wedged into his knapsack on top of the clothes. Another minute to fasten the straps and Tucker got to his feet, panting. He hoisted the pack and slung it over one shoulder, then opened the door slowly and stepped into the hallway. He tiptoed past Billy's room where his grandparents were sleeping, hesitating at the top of the stairs before starting down, carefully placing each foot on the edge of the tread closest to the wall to keep the steps from creaking. He made it to the landing and was halfway to the front door when he heard his brother call out softly.
"Hey Tuckster, is that you?"
He froze. The front door was right in front of him; freedom and his new life were only a half dozen steps away. Reluctantly, the boy turned and looked in the front parlor.
"Billy?"
"Yeah. It's me. Where do you think you're going?"
Tucker let his pack drop to the floor and stood in the doorway without answering, nervously scraping the toe of one shoe with the heel of his other as his eyes adjusted to the gloom in the parlor. "How come the light's off," he asked?
"'Cause it's almost midnight, you bonehead. Everybody's asleep." The older boy's voice was demanding as he repeated his question. "Where do you think you're going?"
Tucker stopped fidgeting, suddenly angry at Billy, angry at all of them. Everybody was always telling him what to do. Everybody was always yelling at him. Billy, Mom, his teachers, his grandparents. "I'm leaving," he said defiantly. "I'm going away and I'm not ever gonna come back." The words came out loud in the darkness.
"Keep it down, stupid. You wanna wake the whole house up?"
Tucker lowered his voice to a whisper. "You can't stop me, Billy."
"So who says I'm gonna try?" Billy laughed softly and Tucker wanted to punch him. "Go ahead and take off, Bonehead."
It wasn't what he expected. He tried to think of something sarcastic to say, some final remark that would put Billy in his place once and for all. Nothing came to him. The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable. Tucker picked up his knapsack and swallowed unhappily. "Well ... goodbye, then."
"Bye, Tuck. See ya around."
"Yeah. See ya."
He was almost to the front door when he heard Billy call out again.
"Hey Tuck."
The hand that was reaching for the doorknob fell to his side and he turned quickly. "Yeah." He waited a moment and when Billy didn't say anything else, the nine year-old walked back and stood in the parlor doorway.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, nothing. If you're leaving and everything ... well, if I'm not going to see you again, I just wanted to know if ... are you mad at me?"
"Nah. I'm not mad."
"You want to talk for a couple of minutes, I mean, before you go and all?"
"I guess so. If you want to." Tucker dropped his pack on the floor then walked into the parlor and sat down on the edge of a wingback chair.
"You can turn the light on if you want. Everybody's asleep. They're not going to see it upstairs."
Tucker made no move to switch on the lamp. "That's okay," he said. He waited for Billy to say something. "What do you want to talk about," he asked, finally? The silence continued. Tucker began to wonder if his brother wanted to talk to him at all, to wonder if maybe the whole thing wasn't a trick, a way of keeping him from leaving. The hell with him, he thought. He was about to stand up and walk out when Billy cleared his throat.
"You're not going to be here for your birthday." It was a statement.
Tucker relaxed into the chair and stared at his hands, not certain what to say.
"Mom's going to be sorry she missed you. You sure you don't want to wait 'til tomorrow, leave after breakfast?"
Tucker shook his head vigorously without speaking.
"You got enough money? You'll have to have money, you know, if you want to buy stuff, food and stuff."
Tucker thought of the piggy in his knapsack, "I've got money," he said.
"Okay, I guess you're all set, then."
It sounded like a dismissal. The boy could feel his eyes begin to sting and wiped them furtively with the backs of his hands, grateful for the darkness that was hiding his face. For the second time, he leaned forward, about to get out of the chair when his brother spoke again.
"You going to write once in awhile? Let Mom know how you're doing?"
"I suppose."
"I hope you do. Everybody's gonna miss you."
It was more than Tucker could stand. "You're a liar, Billy. You don't even like me. All you care about is your stupid game." The urge to cry was almost overpowering and the boy fell silent, once again struggling to hold back the tears.
"You're the liar, Tuck. I thought you said you weren't still mad at me."
There was something in Billy's smug, I-told-you-so tone that infuriated the younger boy.
"I am not," he shouted angrily."
"Ssshhh." It was a command. "You want Mom to hear us?"
"I am not," Tucker repeated in an angry whisper.
Billy chuckled softly. "Okay. You're not mad. How 'bout a little hint, then. What is it you're not mad about?"
Tucker was crying openly now. "I just wanted to try the stupid thing. I didn't mean to break it."
"You mean last Monday? The Nintendo?" Billy sounded surprised. "That's what you're upset about?"
The younger boy nodded wordlessly.
"You weren't supposed to be in my room."
"I know." Tucker wiped his face with the front of his pullover. "I wasn't gonna hurt it. I just wanted to see it. You're the one broke it. I wouldn'a dropped it if you hadn't punched me."
"I'm sorry, Tuck. I shouldn't have hit you." Billy didn't sound smug any more. Just sad. "We friends?"
"I guess."
"I was ... I was just mad, Tuckman. I'm sorry."
"Me too." One last swipe with the front of the pullover. Tucker took a deep breath and managed a small grin.
"You're okay? We're friends again, right," Billy asked.
"It's cool," the younger boy said.
Another long silence.
"You ever think about Dad," Billy asked?
A memory surfaced. Tucker was five years old, sitting in a wagon, holding the handle and trying to steer, feeling terror and exhilaration in equal measure. His father was behind him, bending over him as he pushed the wagon, their faces just inches apart, both of them laughing as the little wagon rocked and bumped over the grass.
"Yeah, I guess," he said. He tried to remember his father's face. The image was out of focus and fuzzy. "Hey, Billy," he said quietly.
"Yeah."
"How come Dad went away?"
"He didn't go away, Tuck. He died."
Tucker could feel his face growing hot. He bit his lower lip and took a another deep breath. He was being a baby. He didn't want to start crying again. Babies cried and he wasn't a baby. He waited until the tightness in his chest began to ease before trying to speak.
"What happens when you die," he asked in a small voice.
Billy was silent, almost like he hadn't heard the question. Tucker tried again.
"Am I going to die," he asked.
"We're all going to die, someday."
Tucker shivered in the darkness as the thought of his own death became real to him for the first time in his life.
"I don't want to die, Billy. Not ever."
"Everybody dies, Tuck."
"But I don't want to." His voice was frightened. "What if I prayed real hard? What if I asked God not to let me die?"
"It won't do any good. Everybody dies eventually." Billy spoke gently. "You don't have to be afraid, Tuckman. You're not going to die for a long time. You're probably gonna live to be as old as grandpa, even older maybe."
It wasn't much comfort. "But ... it's not fair," he protested. "Why can't God just not let me die ... I mean, if I pray ... if I ask him to?"
Billy sighed. "'Cause it doesn't work that way," he said patiently.
Tucker made a whimpering noise.
"Listen, Tuck, you want to hear a story?
"I guess so."
"Well, once there was a rock. It was sitting on the ground in the middle of the woods and every time it rained the rock would get wet. In the wintertime it would freeze and when summer came, the rock would get hot. Finally, it got all crumbly and started to fall apart. The rock knew it was going to die and it got scared."
"Come on, Billy ... it's just a stupid rock," Tucker said, scornfully.
CONTINUED ON RIGHT. . .
© Copyright Dick Barrett
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