Chapter 3 the stairs

    Delving into his lustrous past, Craig did so enjoy taking part in the masterful decorating of the inside and outside of the house for both Christmas and Halloween.  It was more than just decorating, his mother always somehow made it seem like a special event, which he looked forward to.  You always felt as though you were visiting royalty, and the holiday warmth engulfed your entire being.  They would sit around after sipping hot chocolate, and admiring their handiwork, and discussing the glorious holidays, and what they meant to each.  This was a tradition Craig would try to honor, and carry on with his family and his family’s family on through the generations.  The only thing that saddened him was that he knew, he couldn’t bring that certain magic, only his mother could bring.  These fond memories were the only thing which helps him keep his sanity, during this incredibly trying time.

   

    Soon the realization struck home, and it was time to get the ball rolling, he couldn’t sit here on the stairs, waiting for someone to save him.  Summoning enough fortitude, he slowly descended the steps, toward his unknown destiny.  Hand on door knob; he took a deep breath as he pushed the door open. 

   

    His surroundings were familiar, but he didn’t know just where he was, as he slowly took a small step to get a better view.  Just then, a man came running over to him, saying something excitedly in another language, and then he ran away.  Craig didn’t know what he said, but he didn’t feel as if he wanted to stick around to find out either.  Therefore he turned to go back to his door, and then there was a huge explosion, which knocked him to the ground.

         

    Dazed and confused, trying all the while to gather his wits about him.  Noticing a group of army men, who appeared irritated at best making their way toward him.  Knowing right away that this was not a good sign, and therefore attempted to get back to his doorway, but it was not as easy as he thought.  That explosion had really shaken him to his foundation, and he couldn’t stand.  Looking over, he knew they were getting closer, so he began to pull himself toward safety.  He was praying that he would make it, before they either shot him, imprisoned him or whatever unspeakable things they may choose.

         

    Before he knew what was happening, he heard the bullets start to hit the ground right beside him, as he continued to drag his lifeless body into the stairs.  Knowing that they didn’t plan on asking questions, hastened his retreat, but he still wasn’t sure if it would be quick enough.  Just as he was giving up hope, he was able to shut the door behind him, and fall to the floor in exhaustion.

         

    Craig always enjoyed Easter as well, with all the wonderful candy, treats and small toys in his basket but this holiday they didn’t decorate much, just some small trinkets which displayed the event.  Remembering the wonderful Easter dinner his mother always cooked was making his mouth water.  The ham, one of his favorites, and the deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and salad along with biscuits better than any he has had since.  Come to mention it, he hasn’t had a meal close to the quality in a long time and he continued to consider if he ever would.  Perhaps when he found a wife and settled down to start a family.

         

    Waking to a start, Craig examined his shaken body, and understood just how close some of the bullets had come, as his hands trembled.  There were some bullet holes in his pants and shoes, which did not make him a happy camper.  This seems to be getting just too dangerous, and he was wonder if he should just sit here and wait it out.

         

    Along those lines, he wasn’t even sure if he was able to walk, or even stand up yet, as he slowly drifted off into dreamland again.  The only bad memory Craig could recall about Easter, was that he would sometimes have a bad dream.  His dream was normally about a huge rabbit, bigger than he was who would turn up no matter where he was, and bite his hand.  Stopping momentarily to think, “I wonder if it was simply because this wound on my hand, that I have those dreams.”

         

    Again startling him from his nap, he decided to see if he could stand, as he slowly using the banister for help, got to his feet a little shaky, but nonetheless on his feet.  Moving his legs around and just trying to work out any tightness, and eventually they started feeling stronger. 

         

    One problem resolved, and yet he still had the major crisis at hand, taking each step toward the top, wasn’t as easy as before.  Stopping half way up, he thought, “Maybe I should rest a little longer, to get my strength back.  I don’t want to be involved in something, that I need all my strength and I can’t get to it.

         

    Resting in the midst of the stairwell, he drifted back to yet another holiday he did so enjoy, which was Thanksgiving.  His mother was so very busy in the kitchen, again cooking a wonderful feast.  Before that they did do some decorations inside the house of Indian and Pilgrim paraphernalia, along with some fall regalia.  He couldn’t explain it then and even now, but somehow he always had a warm fuzzy feeling, during this time of year.  Maybe it was the family, or the representation of the holiday, or a combination of many things he couldn’t really be sure.

         

    Feeling his strength returning, he was still a little concerned about venturing on, but he knew he had to.  Reaching the top of the stairs, he peered out at what appeared to be Paris France.  With regret, he thought about how he had always wanted to go to Paris and see the sights, and despite his better judgment his desire almost got the best of him; but he knew he didn’t have that luxury.  Before he knew what was happening hurricane force winds picked up and started thrashing him around. 

         

    Putting his head down, and beckoning all his strength, to guide him toward his stairwell.  All the effort he was putting up, was really tiring him out and discouraging him as well.  Huge debris would go flying by, as he continued to tussle against the incredible wind.  This was definitely not the Paris France he wanted to see, when he prayed to get a chance to go there.  His weakening knees held up for him as he struggled to fall into his safe haven. 

         

    Not even bothering to get up this time, he lay there resting, as he considered Fourth of July at home.  Naturally a family event and a feast beyond words, but the best part was toward the end, with the firework show that they all would caravan to.  The city would always put on a great show and we were never disappointed in that regards.

         

    Pulling his tortured mind back to the present, he once again accessed any damages and was happy to find he was simply tired.  “I am so glad I waited to get my strength back before I embarked upon that quest, I don’t think I would have made it back otherwise.”

         

    Once again his mind was thrust back into wondering, if there were some instances, which he had done something, that would have landed him in this situation, or was it simply meant to be.  Craig was thinking about his family and friends, who undoubtedly would be concerned, once they found out that he was missing.  Then he started wondering, if this maybe where some people who have gone missing end up, at a situation such as this.     

         

    Enough ranting and raving, he stood and made his way to the bottom of his steps, and went through the normal preparations, as he opened the door.  Just then he was shoved forcefully from behind, and told to move along.  Looking around, it looked as though he was among a tribe of Indians, being herded along unmercifully.  He realized he must have stumbled into the trail of tears.  He remembered, in the Cherokee language, it was called Nunna daul Isunyi or the trail where they cried.  Thinking back to a report he did for school in which he received an A; Cherokee is Creek for people with another language.  The year was 1838 and the Cherokee Indians were forcibly removed from the southeastern part of the United States, and marched to Indian Territory, in present day Oklahoma.  During this mandatory march, approximately four thousand of the fifteen thousand Cherokees died of exposure, disease and starvation. 

As he went to a soldier to explain, he was not an Indian but an American, even though he was indeed part American Indian, the soldier looked at him as if he didn’t understand a word he said, as he shoved him back into line forcefully. 

         

    Craig always knew what a horrible event the Trail Of Tears was, but never could he have imagined it better than now; he was able to see the anguished looks upon their frightened faces.  Not only that, but the cruelty that these vicious, so called military men rained down upon his ancestors.  All in all, he had to remember, that the further away they got, the more difficult it would be to get back to his doorway and stairs safely.

         

    He needed some kind of distraction, in order to attempt to sneak away, but how did he plan on doing this.  The forced march continued on barring nothing, and no matter how much resistance or not was put up, the soldiers wouldn’t be deterred from continuing on as planned.

         

    At this point a brave started to put up a fight, and all the soldiers joined into subdue the Indian, as Craig took that moment to slip into the foliage, and tried to disappear from sight, as he waited and moved slowly, not to draw any unneeded attention.  Since he had joined during the march, they hadn’t noticed they were missing an Indian.  That simple fact was the only thing which provided him with a possible escape.  Still he had to be very careful, not to be seen.  Slowly he made his way back to where his stairs should be, and when he thought he was near, he stopped out of hiding and began looking. 

         

    Meanwhile in the distance, a soldier had spotted him, and there was confusion as they started toward Craig in haste.  Craig remained calm, as he continued looking for his escape path, as the soldiers drew near.  As the shots grew close, he found it and went inside, disappearing from that part of history.

         

    Taking a breath on the bottom stairs, he wondered what the soldiers thought when he disappeared from sight.  Not having the time to really dwell on that fact, he continued to ponder, what could be next on his harrowing day. 

         

    While he continued to rest, he thought about New Years day and how he and the other children were downstairs having a good time, while the grownups were upstairs sharing the libations.  Remembering how they all sat there playing board games, and just really having a wonderful time, as kids often do.  Yet as they had wonderful times, the kids still shared their thoughts of wondering, what the grown ups were doing. 

         

    Another thing he would recall is that sometimes, some of the kids would try to catch sneaks at what was going on, but they usually weren’t very successful, because the chaperon would catch them and escort them back to the living room.  Craig always thought, they must have been having fun, because it sounded like it, and when he did get seldom chances of seeing them, they always looked happy.

         

    Not realizing at first, but then glancing down at his right leg, he recognized that he had indeed, been shot.  “Things just keep getting better.”  His concern seemed to be skyrocketing at this point, realizing he couldn’t get to any medication or hospital.  His mind was a blur of emotions, as he struggled to figure out his options at the moment.