Two Young Boys

Chapter 1    Alpha – The Beginning, Age 5

“Joseph Allen Walker”. The name was printed on the official label for the children’s home of Logan County. The letters were in bright red permanent marker. You could see it first – even before seeing the little boy behind it.  

The name tag was pinned on to his jacket lapel like a boutonniere would be pinned to a boy’s prom suit. However, this was no prom he was going to. No prom indeed.

“Run, Joseph. Run!” was the only thing that kept going through his head. His mother’s last words, “Run, Joseph, Run.”

The social worker was driving him to a foster home in another town until he could be placed with a permanent family. After doing some research, it seemed there were no other family members surviving. Both his parents died in the fire, and they did not have any next of kin. Someone mentioned an aunt, perhaps his mother’s half-sister. But there was no other information available so the best thing at the time would be to place Joseph with a foster family

Joseph was in a state of trauma, perhaps post-traumatic stress due to the huge house fire and his parents being killed in the fire. He roamed in the fields for some time before the authorities even knew there was a child missing.

After children are exposed to distressing events that they have no control over, they can have debilitating emotional responses. If they are not addressed quickly, these feelings can freeze in time and the child is numb to the world, a kind of catatonic state. That was the reason to get Joseph to a family and stable environment as fast as possible. Treatment could start immediately to help him deal with the loss.

The car he was traveling in was a very plain and functional automobile. The worn-out silver color was not inviting to look at, but it did not bother the sympathetic woman who was driving it. The cracks in the dashboard and upholstery were only signs that the car was old enough to be free and clear of monthly payments. “Badges of courage” are what she called them, proud that she had it paid for.

But her car was not the topic of thought for her this day. It was the young boy sitting next to her: Joseph Allen Walker. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of his ordeal over the past weeks.

As young Joseph traveled in the car, his look was blank: a deadpan stare. His eyes are fixed and unresponsive. No matter which way the car turned, his body automatically adjusted to the movement, but there was no change in his expression. His gray eyes looked like glass. They didn’t move around to follow the signs along the road or even the occasional cat or dog running by.

The season was trying its best to change. Even though the spring bulbs were peeping up to the sun light, many remnants of the horrid winter were lingering. Leafless trees looked like morbid skeletons reaching for him. The day was overcast and gray, except for the small beams of light that cracked from the clouds every now and then. A few robins flit around the ground as the car stopped at the last light in town. But Joseph Allen Walker did not notice anything

The pale color and expression never changed from his face.

The trip became long and tedious, forever winding in and out of the back-country roads. At one time, Joseph looked up at the driver. For a moment he really looked at her and saw that she was a robust, but soft looking woman. The sixty-four years had worn smooth, comfortable wrinkles in her face and neck. Her hand left the wheel long enough to pat his small hand for a moment. A warm smile came to her face as she looked at him.

“Who is this? “But those eyes of his went back into a deep stare.

Had it been another time, Joseph would have reacted to her friendship with a gleam in his eye, asking many questions. A five-year-old boy is always full of questions – and gleaming eyes – and love in his heart for all things. But not this time. Joseph just stared. The blank expression on his face matched the blank feeling in his heart and mind.

The trip seemed to last for hours. They stopped at one point by a roadside rest. His guardian rummaged in the trunk for a short time and pulled out a cooler of sandwiches and drinks. She spread a blanket on a soft spot of new, tufted grass, and then guided Joseph to the prepared picnic. He sat down and quietly ate a sandwich and drank juice. He continued to stare the entire time.

There was a creek nearby, and the woman ambled over to it with Joseph’s hand in hers for a change of scene. But Joseph’s scene did not change.

His blank look troubled the woman as she spoke, “Joseph, do you see the small fish in the creek? And that frog over there, can you catch it? Please, Joseph, talk to me – look at me.”

But Joseph never changed expression. He did not even recognize the words she was saying. She walked him back to the car reluctantly, to return on their journey.

Joseph had no idea where his was going, or why he was in the car. In fact, he didn’t even realize that he was traveling. The child almost resembled an automaton. If he moved at all, the movements were mechanical, with no meaning behind them. Joseph sat still as his protector reached over him to latch the seat belt. She heard it click but did not notice as it slipped out of the broken clasp.

As she started the car and prepared to return to the road, the social worker reviewed her client’s history in her mind. One week ago, today, is when it happened.

That horrid fire. The investigator said it started in a section of faulty wiring in the family’s new home. Imagine, just moving into your new dream home. A house you spend years planning and saving for, and then losing your lives because a shady contractor used defective materials. The fire spread quickly through the electrical wires, the officials said, destroying the whole house.

Joseph was in the family room on the floor playing with his ball and jacks. The ball had rolled under a chair, and he was trying his best to reach it as the room started to fill with smoke.

His mother yelled to him, “Joseph, run! Go outside right now and run! – Joseph, quickly, run!” He heard her calling out to him but seemed like it was from another room. So, he started to search for her.

Then he got afraid when he saw the smoke and called out for her. But all he heard was his mother telling him to run out in the field in front of the house and stay there. No matter what happened, he was to stay there.

“I’ll be right there, Joseph. Go and run out to the field right now!”

As he turned with a confused expression on his face, someone grasped his hand and pulled him out the front door, through the front yard, across the country road and into the field.

Once he was outside, Joseph looked up expecting to see his mother running in front of him, taking him to safety. But there was no one there. He still felt the pressure of someone holding his hand and pulling him, but there was no one there. He was so puzzled as to what was going on, but he kept running. As he turned back to see where his mother was, he saw the fire engulfing the house. Heavy smoke was billowing out and the flames were coming out the windows.

His mother was nowhere to be seen. He hid behind a small bush nearby and peeked out to see what was going on. Joseph instinctively started to run back to the house to find his mother. Just as he gained some speed, there was a huge explosion that spewed fire, black smoke, and wooden pieces into the air. The blast knocked him over. As he looked again at his house and for signs of his mother, he ran deeper into the field.

It was late in the afternoon, and his father pulled up to the house just as a county volunteer fire brigade come into the drive. Sirens were blaring, his father was frantically running into the house calling for Joseph’s mother.

The firemen were just getting out of the trucks and were not able to stop the man from going into the house. Just as they started to follow him, the front of the structure collapsed. Those men, and his father never came out. They were in there with his mother.

Joseph was not able to process what was happening. The fire got bigger. It took too long for the firemen to access the pond down the back of the property. Since it was a new home and property, they were not familiar with the water location. The house quickly was consumed along with his parents and two firemen.

What seemed to be hours passed. Joseph had fallen back onto the ground. As he tried to get up, his foot slipped and he fell again, this time hitting his head as he fell.

He laid there until the night was very dark. As he started to stir, he heard people calling his name. At least, that is what it seemed to be. But there were strange lights moving around, it looked like strobe lights at the county fair he attended with his folks. But his head felt thick, and his ears were ringing. He did not understand what was going on and blacked out again.

Shortly after, the search party found Joseph. It had been several hours before they even knew he was missing. When his body was not found in the burned rubble of the house, they started to worry he was outside wandering around.

Not too many people of the area knew Joseph since the family was new to the area. But a few mothers had seen him playing with the Amish kids that walked by several times a week.

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For that split second, the social worker was distracted by her concern for Joseph and pulled out in front of a large delivery truck as it was making the curve in the road.

It was inevitable. The truck smacked straight into the driver’s side of the car. The door on Joseph’s side came open. His seat belt gave way and he fell out of the car.

As Joseph rolled across the ground, his head hit a rock and he slumped next to it. The car careened into a large tree. The social worker was knocked out, and her head was bleeding.

The truck driver tried to assist the social worker, but she was not responsive. He ran to his truck and called his dispatcher to report the accident and send out an ambulance.

In the rush and confusion of the accident, the truck driver did not notice Joseph at all. He had no idea there was a boy lying in another area away from the car.

Joseph starts to move very slowly. His head has a large scrape on it with a lump forming on his forehead. He starts to wander in the direction of a field of overgrown weeds and brush. Somehow, it looked safe, and he lost himself in the cover of it. Joseph had much difficulty concentrating but he was able to react instinctively.

Suffering from the trauma of his parents dying in a fire, and seeing his house collapse consumed Joseph’s thoughts. So much, that his mind simply shut down as a protection mechanism.

Every time he is faced with another traumatizing event or something that appears as fearful, he instinctively moves towards something that seems safer. Every fear-based trigger activates a protective response. So, heading in a safe direction, even if that is a bush or shrub or clump of grass felt like a defensive move. It felt right.

DONAVON EXPERIENCES CHILDHOOD

The children of Laurel Run were typically full of mischief and vinegar having full reign in this small, unadorned burg. The buildings were sturdy but simple in construction, taking on an adequate quality. They were built for purpose, not beauty. Most buildings had paint peeling and were in much need of visual repair.

The anthracite coal belt, that Laurel Run was a part, was full of working-class people. A good percentage of them worked or did work in the mines, or other jobs related to the support of the mining community. Most folks were not frivolous with their money or time, so the children struggled with how to keep life interesting.

Donovan Clarence was the product of this environment. He came from a deeply unhappy family. In the past five or six years of life, his parents neglected him in favor of more satisfying things. Mother and Father both were addicts, one on alcohol the other on harder stuff. Donovan never knew what his dad was taking, but it made him lethargic and complacent. He just sat on the couch – sometimes the television was on – sometimes not. But always he just sat with nothing to say. Or he just left the house and was gone for days at a time. Donovan never knew when his dad would come back, or if he ever would. He secretly wished his dad would just go away and never come back.

His mother was another story. She got mean when she was drinking. Donovan only recalls one time she was loving and kind. It must have been when he was around the age of 4 or 5 years. She baked a birthday cake for his father. She felt so good to be productive and happy. Her reddish blond hair was loose and free, and her eyes sparkled with heart-felt warmth as she looked at Donavon.

She let Donovan help her mix the cake. It was fun to watch the batter swirling around in the bowl. And of course, he got to lick the bowl. He felt cared for and loved at that moment.

But the phone rang, and everything changed. His mother started screaming and crying. Then slammed the phone down on the receiver. She went straight to the kitchen cupboard and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass. As she poured herself a drink, Donovan just stared at her. He couldn’t figure out why she had changed so much from a few minutes before.

He found other things to do in the kitchen, playing with some pans, scooting a chair around. But his mother just sat at the old wooden table, cried out loud and continued to drink. She got louder and louder, and soon her crying became yelling. And then screaming. More than half an hour had past, and smoke started coming from the stove.

The kitchen had an old gas stove that came with the rental they lived in, and the oven never worked properly. Donavon’s mother did not cook regular meals. She rarely ever baked. Since the pilot lights on the stove were inconsistent, she usually lite them and the oven with a match.

This time, the match had dislodged and ultimately caught leftover greasy gunk in the oven. It slowly smoldered and eventually caught fire.     

The cake was burning! Donovan cried out in confusion and fear. He did not understand what was happening, but thought the cake was burning. IN fact, it was the entire stove that was going up in smoke and flames. His mom grabbed the chair he was playing with and threw it against the wall, screaming at him to grow up and act like a man. He ran to a corner of the kitchen, shaking in fear. She opened the oven door and pulled out the cake pan.

The smoldering fire raged out the door and caught her on fire. Her blouse was torched very quickly, and her hands were badly burned.

The shrieking and screaming that followed caused Donovan to run out of the house. By that time one of the neighbors noticed something was wrong and came into the house. They successfully

wrapped his mother in towels and blankets they found in the house and pulled her out of the house. Fire and emergency were called, and his mother was taken to the hospital. The fire was confined to the kitchen but had damaged much of it.

Donavon cowered behind a tree nearby.  In his mind he wondered, “What did mom mean by growing up and acting like a man?” This one thing she said to him bothered him for a long time. He had no way of knowing that she really was saying it about his father.

Donovan stayed with neighbors until they could find his father. But nothing was ever the same after that. His mother continued to drink at the least little upset or argument. His father did nothing and sat in a state of stupor. And Donovan was left to fend for himself.

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As Donavon walked out of his house, the screen door slammed. He did not notice, but his mother yelled out about how inconsiderate he was, and the noise made her migraine worse. Every time she yelled at him another stab was made to his ego. It caused him to feel so low, with no self-esteem. After some point, it was inevitable that she would yell, so what did it matter?

But it did matter. However, the hurt was so down deep and hidden, that Donavon successfully ignored it. The subconscious was gathering these hurts, these demeaning insults. After some time, his mind tricked him into thinking that he really was no good, inconsiderate and did not care if he hurt his mother.

As he jumped off the stoop at this front door, the sole of his foot felt a jagged stone. His cheap gym shoes were so worn and old that there was a hole in the bottom. His toes were crunched up at the top and it felt better to go barefoot than wear them. So, he pulled them off and threw them around the side of the house.

The hurt he felt in his heart showed itself on his face as a scowl. He kept this scowl for so long that summer it became a permanent expression. As he walked onto the wooden sidewalk, the heels of his feet pounded loudly. They spoke louder that his scowl.

Some of the people in the area skirted him or moved to the other side of the street to avoid him. They have had difficult encounters with him in the past and learned to stay clear.

Sometimes Donavon entered a store or business with no intention of buying anything. He did not have any money anyway. But he went in to stir up trouble. He couldn’t get any attention at home, so this turned out to be the only way anyone would respond to him. It was sad to watch, but many business owners shewed him out before he could do any damage.

Mr. Johnson was different. He always greeted Donavon when he came in. but Donavon returned with a smart remark, or a shove to knock down merchandise. On occasion he would grab some fruit from the display and run out, thinking he was getting over on old man Johnson.

Donavon did not know Mr. Johnson always expected he’d crab a few things. He was familiar with Donavon’s home life and was concerned that he did not have enough nourishing food. He was happy to see Donavon eat his produce.