The Twelfth Sunday

*Third place in the Newsboys (and girls) Short Story Contest Contest (Feb. 2008)

*Honorable Mention in The Great Short Story Contest (June 2008)

The Twelfth Sunday

It was Sunday and the children were restless-- nothing out of the ordinary at Universal Life Orphanage. Visitation day proved to be an unsettling time for those in the process of being abandoned. All but the smallest children knew how it worked. Eventually that dreaded day would arrive, when the visits from their parents stopped forever.

Allen Rainey didn't fall into this category. His parents died in an automobile accident when he was seven years old. He was a true orphan and had lived in almost every dormitory there. Now that Allen was fifteen, he'd been transferred to a group home on the outer boundary of the property. The tall, thin youth worked at a local music store and diligently saved his money, realizing what awaited him after graduation and accepting the harsh reality of his circumstances. Without relatives, money was paramount. But even though Allen could've worked on Sundays, he never did. He wanted to be there if that dreaded day ever arrived for his best friend, Owen.

Allen watched the ten-year-old throw rocks at a birdbath. Owen was short for his age, and rambunctious. If the superintendent caught him, it meant a severe paddling. Owen had chipped it once before. But this was the eleventh Sunday in a row. No parents. Usually, twelve was the cut off. Most everyone knew. That's when it happened, the dreaded day, abandonment.

"Hey Owen," Allen yelled, "You better not let Mr. Wright see you. You'll be washing dishes until you're my age," then realized his blunder. Owen dropped a handful of stones, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm never leaving this place."

"That's not what I meant," Allen said apologizing, rubbing the boy's thick, red hair. "Listen, that new counselor needs his car washed. I bet we can make five bucks apiece. Whadaya think?"

Owen kicked a rock. " After we get done can we go to the music store and look at the guitars?"

"Absolutely. But we got to get with it. We can't hang around all day waiting on grownups. You know how lazy they can be. Shoot, this guy won't even wash his own car." This temporarily satisfied Owen; washing the car and going to the music store took his mind off that dreaded day.

Allen couldn't quit worrying about Owen, even after lights out. How could anyone hurt such a cute, freckled-faced child? Allen knew his efforts to help were temporary. Nothing could fill the emptiness, the fear of being alone. Allen attempted to fill his own void with hard work. He took every odd job available and read every book that he could get his hands on, never missing the opportunity to learn something new. This was how he advanced from cleanup boy to sales associate at the music store. In fact, the assistant manager feared that Allen might someday advance even further. Gary Butler was insecure and mean spirited. He made it difficult for Allen at every turn.

____

"Well you blew another sale," Gary Butler barked at Allen. "The kid was on the verge of buying that pedal. What's wrong with you?"

Allen took a deep breath. "He was just a beginner--he didn't really need it. I thought he'd be better off getting some instruction books and extra guitar strings."

"Don't let it happen again," Gary Butler hissed, flashing a daunting glare. "Being a good cleanup boy is one thing, but the boss man don't take kindly to missed opportunities. You get my drift. I need you to check in the deliveries. Hop to."

"No problem," Allen returned, smart enough not to say more. Checking in the deliveries was Butler's responsibility. Not that Allen minded doing it. He didn't want to lose his job. He needed the money to buy a car after graduation. Allen did the only thing he knew to do, the only thing that he'd ever done, he worked as hard as he could.


That evening after dinner, Allen went to check on Owen. He found him at the soccer field, sullen and alone. At times like these, Allen felt helpless and knew not to talk until Owen was ready. Allen wished time could jump forward. He wished that he already had a car, a big job, and enough money to make everything all right for Owen. Allen listened for years to damaged kids tell stories about substance abuse, infidelity, and divorce; how these impaired judgments forced their families into financial ruin. Allen didn't know what was going on with Owen's parents, but there was only one more Sunday to go.

Owen finally spoke. "When you graduate will you come and visit me? And don't give me any bull about how everything's gonna be all right."

"Listen. We're going to be best friends forever, no matter what! I'll have a good job and my own place soon; you can visit all you want. Shoot, they'll be plenty happy days in our future. You're gonna be a famous star and give me backstage passes, remember?"

"We both know that will never happen," Owen said, on the verge of tears. "Stupid Jake won't let me practice on his guitar."

"What's he mad about this time?"

"I was trying to show him a better way to play the G chord, and he just got all mad. Jake says he doesn't need any help from a little kid. He's only one year older than me. If he would play it my way, he could switch to the C chord way faster."

"Hey, do ya think I could learn to play drums?"

"Sure," Owen said. "Why drums?"

"You've got the guitar covered. And the drums don't look that hard. I figured we could jam together someday, if I could learn. Whadaya think?"

"The drums are pretty hard to play. But you could do it. I know you could."

Allen laughed. "Let's get permission to walk to the music store. The assistant manager is off tonight. Jane is working. She's cool"

"You got a girl friend, you got a girl friend."

"She's old enough to be my mother. Come on."

Allen wanted to keep Owen concentrating on something other than the dreaded day, and nothing worked better than the music store. It was a mild October evening and the two-mile trek proved enjoyable. They made it a point to touch every Elm that lined the street; a game they often played. Still, Allen carried the weight of his friend's impending doom. As he touched the trees, Allen realized that he couldn't hold back time. Nor could he transport Owen to where the pain of next Sunday would hopefully be behind him. Allen knew that missing twelve times didn't necessarily mean what everyone thought, but it was mostly true. And it was certainly true in Owen's mind.

"Well lookee here," Jane said, as the two boys entered the store. "Who's your friend, Allen?"

"This is Owen, guitar player extraordinaire. Owen, this is Jane, no relation to Gary Butler." Owen nodded his head.

"Nice to meet ya, Owen. What are you guys up to tonight?"

"Just looking around, Allen wants some drums."

Jane acted surprised. "I thought you were saving for a car."

"I am. We're just dreaming about the future."

"I see," Jane said with a wink. "I take it you haven't found a way to keep Mr. Butler off your back"

"Not yet."

"Just between us," Jane whispered, "there's something off kilter about that chap."

Owen went straight to the acoustic guitars. There were starter guitars, moderately priced styles, and top-of-the-line beauties in all shapes and sizes. Owen would've been ecstatic to own any of the instruments hanging on the wall. But there was one that he always looked at longer than the others. A jumbo Gibson: a full-bodied dreadnought with a birch soundboard, pearl inlay, and a maple neck. A simple strum made the strings ring for the longest time, and Owen listened as if under a spell. This particular guitar was the most expensive acoustic in the store, just over two thousand dollars.

Allen watched from across the aisle and made up his mind right then. Sunday, he would have a guitar for Owen. A couple hundred ought to do it. Although it would be difficult to turn loose of the hard-earned money, Allen knew it was the right thing to do.

The conversation was sparse on the walk back to the orphanage, the temporary diversion wearing off. Allen figured that Owen was thinking about the coming Sunday. They said goodnight and Owen disappeared inside the dorm. Allen remembered how it felt when he'd first arrived at the institution, knowing he was stuck there. Alone. It sent chills up his spine.

Later that week Allen purchased an acoustic Fender guitar. Including tax and a decent case, the total bill came to three hundred and twenty dollars. A young man, who had kept the instrument in excellent condition, used it as partial payment on a new electric model. Because Owen constantly rummaged through all the rooms at the group home, Allen decided to leave the guitar at the store until Sunday. He wrote two notes and placed them inside the guitar case--one if Owen's parents showed, and one if they didn't.

Saturday morning in the stockroom Gary Butler happened upon a guitar case marked sold. He opened it and read Allen's notes. The assistant manager took the guitar outside and smashed it against the dumpster, until only broken bits remained. While disposing of the evidence, Butler unknowingly dropped one of the notes. He appeared satisfied with himself and placed the guitar case back in stock with the others.


Sunday morning all the children were restless at Universal Life Orphanage, but no one more than Owen. He wore his best outfit and peered out the window. All the other kids were waiting to see what happened. This was Owen's twelfth Sunday without a visit. He wondered where Allen was. He was usually there by now. Owen had never faced a Sunday without his friend and the fear was paralyzing. He had no idea that Allen was on his way to the music store, where Jane sat reading the no-show note that Gary Butler inadvertently dropped in the stockroom.

Jane had never been able to have children; the heart-wrenching letter moved her to tears. Allen wrote about the perils of this world and a never-ending friendship that could overcome them. How it wasn't Owen's fault that his parents were weak, and how Owen would be strong and a great artist someday, writing songs that spoke to those in their darkest hour. Jane struggled to make her way to the end of the note, which read. "This is a small gift for you on this dreaded day. Let it put you under a spell until better times come your way."

Allen arrived to find Jane in tears, but no guitar. They searched the building thoroughly. Nothing. There was no way that he was going back empty handed. Allen had a thousand dollars left, his life savings. He examined the row of acoustic guitars hanging from the wall. He knew Owen would be desperate by now, especially if his parents weren't there. Allen nervously plucked on the strings of several moderately priced guitars, thinking about graduation and his uncertain future.

"Owen was mesmerized by this one," Jane's voice rang out, lifting the jumbo Gibson off its hook. "I saw him. This is the one he needs. This one will make the difference. I'm going to buy it for him."

Bewildered and confused, Allen attempted to speak. But no words came out. And then it hit him, like the superintendent's paddle, down deep where you know the meaning of all things. This was his responsibility, his best friend. Regardless of the setback, he couldn't let Jane do it without his help. Ignoring her pleas to save his money, Allen endorsed the thousand-dollar check that cleaned out his account. Jane paid the remaining balance, amazed at the depth of her young friend's character, and never gave any thought to her own sacrifice. Allen inserted the note in the guitar case and then hugged Jane on his way out the door.



Owen's parent's never arrived that Sunday. In fact, they never did come. But the spell of the jumbo Gibson eased that dreaded day, and all the days that followed. Allen became a successful businessman and acquired a chain of music stores, including the one that Jane now runs, and fired you know whom. Owen never became a famous songwriter, but he and Allen live in the Ohio Valley overlooking the river. Beginning in the fall, when the elm leaves are turning, people say that every twelfth Sunday sweet music from an acoustic guitar and drums can be heard moving across the water. Many say the sounds take away their grief.

The End

(2151 words)