The Adventures of Stevie #126
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie is 13 in this story, at year 3 of summer camp.
The Adventures of Stevie #126 "A Dog Passes"
Dear Carlos,
A dog got onto the rifle range. He got shot by accident. I wasn't
there, but Rod was, and he sent a camper to get me. I ran so fast to
get there, if I had bumped into anybody, I think it would have smashed
us to jelly. Then I discovered I had to wait half a minute for my eyes
to recover from the wind in them. I need goggles for that kind of
speed. Regular glasses aren't good enough to keep the wind out of my
eyes.
The dog was dying, and there wasn't anything I could do about it,
which was what I told Rod. I asked him to bring the boy who
accidentally shot him. He did. The boy was 10, and crying. I said "It
was an accident, right?" He nodded, and it was true. I told him,
"Sometimes bad things happen which we can't control. We feel bad, like
we should, but we have to forgive ourselves. He will forgive you. Come
and pet him to sleep." He did, and the dog licked his hand. "See? He's
not mad at you. Go with Rod now, and I will sit with him." I hugged
him, and gave him love. He went, and I told the dog he would feel nice
and loved. I put my hand on his head, and filled him with love and
peace, and made him sleep. He died when I was carrying him to the
nurse. I told her what happened, with tears streaming down my face. She
will have some counselors burry the dog in the forest after lights out.
She rinsed the blood out of my shirt, and I put it back on wet.
I sat on the hill, at my usual spot. Rod brought the boy, for us to
keep each other company. The two of us just sat. Sometimes we touched
each other, as if to make sure we were still there. Some of the dogs
came to sit with us. They knew we were feeling very sad, and they
wanted to help us. I didn't make them do it, like I didn't make the
dying dog lick the boy's hand. That's just the way dogs are. We soon
started to feel better. Dogs playing can do that. The boy responded to
them, and soon they were rolling around on the grass together, licking
faces for laughter. I could hear Tommy, down the hill, tell the boy's
counselor to watch for trouble with the boy, in case he became too sad
again, and to send him to me if that happened. I didn't think it would.
Debbie came to sit with me. She said "I heard. It was very good of
you, what you did for the boy." I said "I wish I could have done more,
for them both." She hugged me, and said, "I know." We sat for a while.
Then she said, "I never saw anybody run that fast." I said "Me neither.
That was the first time. I don't want to do it again. I could hardly
see when I got there, the wind was so bad on my eyes. Almost ripped my
glasses off, too." She said "I just had a picture in my mind of the
wind ripping your clothes off, for all the girls to see what's mine." I
said "I think I'm not going to stand up for a while." She laughed, and
so did I, with her.
Your friend,
Stephen
--
Grant
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