Coming Home

He was gone to that other place. The place where he could hide and they couldn’t hurt the real him. Alex heard them coming. He had been alone for hours. He hid in the closet. Maybe they wouldn’t look there? They searched the house. He pulled clothes off hangers and hid underneath them. She opened the door.

His aunt, who wasn’t his aunt, threw shirts and pants back into the bedroom. Alex looked at her with terrified eyes. She grabbed him, her fingernails digging into his forearm.

“Here he is.” She called to her husband. “Come outta there.” She backhanded him, knocking Alex to the floor.

Alex’s uncle appeared at the door to the child’s bedroom. He ran, trying to get away. He caught him and pushed him back to his wife.

“Get back there and take your punishment, you little brat.” He said, slurring the words. She kicked at him. Missing, she fell on her butt. His uncle bent over laughing. Alex ran past him out into the icy rain. He hid behind the garage. Alex wept. If he was older, he would run away. At seven, what could he do?

His mommy died a month ago. His father, not his real father, gave him to his sister and her husband. When he left, he stood at the window. Alex waved at his stepfather. He didn’t wave back.

For his dinner, they told Alex to make his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They were out of jelly. He cried that night. They came to him. He thought His aunt would love him. Alex found out later his daddy promised them money if they would care for him that week. The week ended. No sight of his father. One week became two, then three.

The beatings started the fourth week. Actually, they started as soon as he arrived. But these were them just slapping him around. The real beatings, the ones that left him bleeding on the floor and unconscious, started at the end of a month. He ran, but they cornered him. Even in their drunken state, he couldn’t get away. There were two of them and only one of him. His uncle grabbed and held him while his aunt smacked him around with her fist.

The first time. The time they really beat him, he woke up on the floor. His nose hurt his teeth loose. He lay there a while, gathering strength. His aunt jerked him to his feet.

She leaned down, screaming in his face. “He’s not coming back. He got rid of you and he ain’t comin’ back. He suckered us.” She hit him with her closed fist. In the stomach, then the jaw, when he bent over. His uncle kicked him in the butt.

The next time they beat him, he went a way to a quiet, peaceful island. He had read about it in a book. Water so clear he saw fish swimming around far below him. The gritty sand was cool on his bare feet. The sun was a brilliant golden ball in a cloudless sky. An ice-cold drink appeared in his hand.

He took a deep swallow of the delicious liquid.

“Easy there, sweetie. We don’t know the extent of your injuries.” He looked up into the tear-filled eyes of a policewoman.

“My mommy is dead. The bad people hurt me.” He said, trying to rise. She held him down and let him take another sip of cold water.

“The bad people are going to jail. They won’t hurt you again.” She said.

They took him away that night to a big hospital and put him on a floor with cartoon characters on the walls. He woke up in a big white bed. A nurse came in and smiled at him. She brought in a tray of food. On the tray was a glass of milk. She said they would let him go home today. He started to shake and cry.

“No, no, I don’t want to go back there.” He said to her, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Oh, no, honey. You’re going to a new home with people who will love you.” She said, smoothing his hair. Taking a tissue, she dried his eyes.

Later that morning, they came for him. He was up and the nurse helped him dress. His foster mother and father walked into the room.

“Hi sweetheart, my name is Karen Harris, and this is my husband frank.” She smiled.

“Hi sport, we’re here to take you home.” The man said. The couple knelt around Alex.

The doctor came in and greeted the couple with a handshake. “He may be a little sore for a while. Alex experienced quite a bit of physical pain. He’s very fortunate that nothing was broken,” the doctor said.

The nurse took him out in a wheelchair. She wouldn’t let him walk. His foster mother buckled him in to the backseat. His heart pounded. Who were these people? He didn’t know them. Would they beat him too?

They pulled into the driveway of a big white house. The lawn was so green it almost hurt his eyes.

They took him to a room with a bed,chest and toys on shelves.

“This is your room. Do you like it?” The woman said, wiping her eyes.

The man put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “This was our son’s room.” He choked up. Clearing his throat. “He died last year.”

“Your welcome to play with all of his…your toys.” She gave him a sad smile.

That night, he came down to find the table fully loaded with good food. He ate his fill. After his bath, his foster mother dressed him in new pajamas and read him a bedtime story until he fell asleep. She woke him the next morning with a smile and a kiss. To the little boy, it was like a dream come true.

After he had lived with them for six months, his foster mother and father set him down. “Alex.” His foster father said. He looked at his wife. “We have an early Christmas present for you.” He smiled at this wonderful couple who had opened their home to him.

He looked around him. Surely, they had hidden it. “Where is it?”

She handed him an envelope. Inside were adoption forms signed by a judge.

“We have adopted you,” they said, smiling. Weeping, he hugged them. This was his new mother and father. Alex had come home.