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Eric Dufresne About 5590 words
Montreal, Quebec,
Canada
The Healing Touch of Jonathan Theriault
by Eric Dufresne
(manuscript format)
Jonathan never knew where his ability to cure diseases came
from. For awhile, he believed the gift came from God and that
his mission in life was to heal every sick human on Earth.
Well, screw that plan, right? thought Jonathan, attempting a
sarcastic jab at his ordeal. Almost totally blind, he lay in
his hospital bed as sarcasm quickly made way for resignation.
Jonathan’s bed was placed near an open window. He could
hear people, mostly patients, walking on the gravel path that
circled the small artificial lake behind the hospital. The warm
breeze felt good on his face; spring was just around the corner.
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He turned his head towards his mother and father who sat close
to him. Jonathan made them out as shadows as his eyes were
shutting down on him.
To put his mind off his condition, he thought about heaven,
which he had done quite a few times lately. He daydreamed that
in heaven, women eat dessert without putting on weight, and all
the guys drive the coolest cars.
“What’s on your mind, honey?” asked his mom.
“Ice cream. And the Batmobile.”
“Must be the medication,” whispered Jon’s dad to his wife.
The worried woman ignored him.
“I know you can beat this thing, Jon,” she said. “I just
know it...”
But the old question was: could Jonathan allow himself to do
it?
Letting the question linger in his mind - with a sudden
craving for a bowl of cold, creamy ice cream - Jonathan laid his
head on his pillow, and closed his eyes.
At that moment, a newspaper headline from twenty-some years
ago came into focus in his mind: COMET GRAZES EARTH. The
situation, Jonathan remembered, had been so serious that many
astronomers had thought Earth was done for: the planet would be
like a ball meeting God’s baseball bat. The astronomers had
called the comet some foolish name like B-52A or something of
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the sort. Jonathan always thought the astronomers had showed a
sick sense of humor for naming a comet after a bomber.
In the end, the comet had passed some 300,000 miles from
Earth, which in astronomy terms is like a car passing by one’s
house. The only immediate effects had been invisible cosmic
particles being shot by the comet’s tail into the atmosphere.
Following that near-Armageddon, science consultants debated for
days on CNN whether those particles had been destroyed by the
atmosphere or not, and if they had passed through, how they
could affect humans. Cancer had been one theory advanced by the
experts.
#
One spring day, soon after the comet’s drive-by, Jonathan
performed his first miraculous cure. He was 17 years old. His
mother, Margaret Theriault, had gotten such a fever and a sudden
pain in her stomach that his father had rushed her to the
hospital. After examining her, the doctors diagnosed acute
appendicitis.
As Jonathan’s mom rolled by on a stretcher towards the
O.R., the boy hurried to touch her hand. Immediately, he felt a
kind of heat pass from his spine, across his arm, until it
seemed to explode at his fingertips. Margaret must have felt it
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too because she suddenly raised her puzzled face to stare at her
son. As for Jonathan, he got a severe head rush. He sank to
the floor with his back against the wall and waited for the
feeling to pass.
Thirty minutes later, the surgeon walked out of the O.R.
He pulled down his mask and took Jonathan’s father aside, all
the while nibbling nervously at his lower lip.
Jonathan, feeling less shaky, sneaked close enough to hear
them:
“What do you mean ‘there’s nothing’?” asked the father.
“Well, uh, the appendix is just...fine,” mumbled the
doctor, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation.
“You mean you cut her up and discovered my wife’s a-okay?”
“Well...we did proceed with the incision, but not the
removal of the appendix.”
“There was nothing wrong with it?”
The doctor took a deep breath. “Your wife was diagnosed
with acute appendicitis. All the signs were there...”
“But...?”
“But the appendix was perfectly normal.”
“WHAT?”
Jonathan watched the exchange between his father and the
doctor from a few feet away. For him, the whole scene seemed
surreal.
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“Shhh...Please, M.Theriault. I must ask you to lower your
voice.”
“Listen to me, you dumbass,” fumed Jon’s father. “I got
two words for you: malpractice suit!”
The doctor wiped sweat from his upper lip with his index.
He said, “Please, sir, hear me out: we’ll do a whole series
of tests just to be sure there’s nothing else wrong with your
wife.”
“Tests?” The vein on Jim Theriault’s forehead formed a
throbbing “Y”.
“Free of charge, of course,” added the doctor, wisely.
And that was that.
Jonathan had cured his mom’s appendicitis with a mere touch
of his hand just like Jesus’ apostles had cured the epileptics.
#
Some days went by before Margaret decided to talk to her son
about what had happened at the hospital. It was an awkward
moment, a typical conversation between a mom and her teenage son.
The mother stood by her son’s bedroom door while holding a
laundry basket full of dirty clothes. She said, “You know when
you touched me, I felt like something went to my stomach and the
pain was gone.”
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As for Jonathan, he wished to avoid the issue; discussing
what had happened at the hospital was akin to discussing what he
does sometimes in his bed at night. Anyway, he had already
begun to convince himself the whole event had just been pure
coincidence. Me? Superhuman healer? Bullshit!
“Ma, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The fever
made you weird, y’know?”
“Honey, I know something happened.”
Jonathan held the paperback edition of Carrie and died to
get back into it, for a telekinetic teenage girl causing mayhem
and destruction in a little Maine municipality was much
preferable to this embarrassing conversation.
“I don’t know what to tell you, mom.” Jonathan hoped that
would put an end to the discussion.
He was wrong.
Margaret kept going: “But didn’t you feel it? When you
touched me? And how do you explain that the doctors found
nothing wrong with my appendix?”
Jonathan scratched his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’m telling you honey, something happened at the hospital.
A...miracle.”
At that moment, Jonathan grabbed his backpack and reached
inside.
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“Mom, why don’t we talk about that.” He pulled a box of
condom out of his backpack and held it at arm’s length to make
sure his mother got a good look at it.
Margaret turned pale. She stalled for a second then said,
“I’ll ask your dad to have a word with you.” She walked away
from Jonathan’s room, and the issue - that of Jonathan’s healing
touch, that is - never resurfaced until many years later.
#
A few days after his talk with his mom, Jonathan tried to
cure one of his friends, Tom Craig, from a bad cold. But
nothing happened; no heat passed along his spine and shot
through his fingertips. Rather, he just felt like an idiot for
touching Tom’s forehead and making him spit out, “Stop touching
me, douche!”
Secretly, it unsettled Jonathan that his power had just been
an apparent fluke. For a while, he had pictured his face on
Time magazine, being proclaimed Man of the Millennium, no less.
He could see himself being flown around the planet by world
leaders, curing men, women, and children from malaria, leprosy,
and countless other ailments. Jonathan even imagined a hero’s
welcome at the United Nations.
But none of those hopes and dreams ever came true.
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Curing his mom from appendicitis had appeared to be a one-
shot deal; the gift had come and gone just like the comet.
Well, Jonathan thought he could probably let Tom suffer a bit
anyway for calling him a “douche”.
#
Five years went by before Jonathan realized his healing gift
was the real deal.
On a beautiful spring day, Jonathan’s relatives gathered for
a barbecue at Uncle Gus’ farm.
Uncle Gus was a big man with a big heart. He loved a good
meal, family gatherings, ice-cold beer, and his favorite nephew,
Jonathan.
When Jonathan and his family arrived at the farm, Gus
greeted them with a can of Budweiser in one hand and a
handkerchief in the other.
“Hi, big brother!” said Jim Theriault.
“Jimmy!” Gus greeted back. Both men shook hands. Gus
looked at his sister-in-law.
“Hi Margaret,” he said with a big smile.
“Hi Gus,” Margaret answered, annoyed. Somehow, she always
felt that way around Gus; his loud voice, his love of good food
and good beer - it all exasperated her. Nevertheless, she would
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be the first to admit that her brother-in-law was one of the
most generous human beings she had ever known. Still, she
thanked God that Jim, her husband, was a toned-down version of
Gus.
Gus kissed Margaret on a cheek, whirled around, and sneezed
in his handkerchief.
“Ooo, I see stars!” Gus laughed and pretended to get woozy
and lose his balance. “Either it’s the damn hay fever or the
beer. Or maybe it’s you, Margaret.”
Margaret grinned at Gus.
“Hey, Uncle Gus!”
“Well, if it ain’t Jon! Wow! You’re getting as tall as
your dad! But better-looking!”
The big man snorted, took a sip from his beer, and sneezed
again. This time, he didn’t use his handkerchief; spit flew out
of his mouth at the speed of sound. Disgusted, Margaret brought
a hand to her mouth.
The four of them walked towards the back of Gus’ farm where
everybody was already gathered, drinking beer or soda, eating
hot dogs, and playing horseshoe.
“How goddamn funny is this, eh?” mused Gus. “I earn my
living in a corn field, day in day out, and every year I get
this ungodly hay fever.”
“Quite ironic,” said Margaret.
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“Exactly the word I was looking for. ‘Ironic’.”
They kept walking as Gus wiped his nose with the back of his
hand.
“Have you ever tried medication?” inquired Jonathan. “Like
BENILYN or something?”
“I don’t believe in that crap,” answered Gus in a heartbeat.
“It’ll go away as it always does. I just hope I won’t end up
sneezing my brains out!”
Gus put an arm around Jonathan’s shoulder as they both
laughed at the image of Gus’ grey cell exploding out of his
ears.
#
Later that day, Jonathan sat some distance away from his
relatives who were still drinking and eating in the backyard.
He was under a tall maple tree, the cool shade feeling good on
this warm spring day. Taking the last bite from his hot dog and
chasing it down with soda, he saw Gus, handkerchief in hand,
walking towards him. Gus’ face was flushed, and his eyes glazed.
“Are you okay, Uncle Gus?”
“Sure, Jon. Only the hay fever...and the beer.” Gus
honked loudly in the handkerchief as he sat down next to his
nephew.
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“You know,” began Jonathan, wiping his mouth with a napkin,
“you should really try something for your allergies. It can
bring on fever, so I’ve heard.”
“Jon, son... Why would I want medication? Look at me.”
The boy did and almost laughed at his uncle’s drunken face.
“I’m as strong as an ox,” continued Gus. “This body
doesn’t need no god-awful chemical products to make it work
better!”
Then, Gus plumped down the grass, closed his eyes, and
began snoring.
Jonathan looked at his uncle who was just two feet from
him. What if I just touched him? he thought. Just to see if...
The young man hesitated a few minutes before making up his
mind. And when he touched his uncle’s hand, he felt that
extraordinary heat travel through his spine and explode at his
fingertips. Jonathan gasped and pulled his hand away from Gus,
afraid he might have sent a wave of energy strong enough to cook
his uncle’s hot-dog-filled entrails. Crawling a few feet away,
Jon felt a familiar faintness wash over him just as it had years
ago. And he almost had a heart attack when his uncle sat
straight up in front of him.
“What did you do, boy?” Gus stared at his nephew’s
startled face. “What did you do to me?”
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“N - nothing, Uncle Gus...” Jonathan wasn’t quite sure if
Gus was angry or just confused from an alcohol-induced ten-
minute nap. But the boy quickly saw how Gus’ face had come back
to normal: no flushed cheeks, and his eyes were crystal clear.
“Hey!” exclaimed Gus. He inhaled deeply through his nose.
“My hay fever – it’s gone! Holy geez, Jon!” He stroke his
nephew’s blond head. “I’ll be damned!”
“Are – are you okay, Uncle Gus?”
“Yeah! I feel like a million bucks! Hey, this calls for a
beer!”
Gus was all smiles as he stood up and went to celebrate
with yet another Budweiser.
Jonathan just sat there, trying to get his head together.
He didn’t know if he should be scared or thrilled by what had
just happened.
Why now? he wondered. Why did it never work all the other
times I tried? There must have been something he missed...a
sign. Then, he recalled the day he had cured his mother.
It was in spring.
He looked around and a one-hundred-watt light bulb came on
in his head.
I can cure people – but only during spring?
Call it what you will - fate, karma, God’s will - Jonathan
had miraculously been entrusted with healing faculties which
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only worked during nature’s exact awakening. Missing the irony
of it all, a perplexed Jonathan simply thought: That sucks! Who
would want a power that works only once a year?
#
In spite of his initial sardonic response to the whole
situation, Jonathan proceeded to perform more miraculous
healings as the years passed.
Every time a one-shot deal, during springtime.
Consequently, Jonathan learned to use his power wisely,
reserving it only for serious conditions. For instance, on his
way to college a year after the barbecue at his uncle’s place,
Jonathan cured an epileptic boy who was in the midst of a
seizure.
By then, Jonathan had already realized he could not afford
to waste his power on people like, say, Tom Craig, whom he would
let endure more bad colds.
#
The migraines started soon after Jonathan’s 34th birthday.
One day the alarm clock buzzed and Jonathan just couldn’t
drag himself out from under the covers. He lay there and found
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himself wishing the whole world would collapse onto itself as a
hammer pounded the inside of his head. After taking some ADVIL
and a few days off from work, the migraines subsided and
Jonathan was able to get back to the office.
Some weeks later, Jonathan’s vision blurred as the
migraines came back stronger than ever. Close to panic, he
wondered for the first time in his life what would happen if he
used his healing power on himself. Would it cause the whole
universe – if not only his brain - to implode?
It was still winter; spring was many weeks away and
Jonathan’s gift would resurface only then. As he grew older, he
had trained himself to intuitively feel his power emerge, like a
soothing warmth in his belly brought on by a creamy liquor.
Jonathan would just have to be patient until then.
Still, he did meet a doctor regarding his migraines. The
doctor said he could not come up with a proper diagnosis until a
Computerized Axial Tomography (CAT) scan of Jon’s brain was
done.
A few days later, Jonathan saw the result of the scan.
That brought cold shivers through his back. Instinctively, he
brought a hand to his head. Since his power was still dormant
in those final days of February, the healing energy refused to
manifest itself.
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The scan showed a tumor the size of a golf ball inside
Jonathan’s brain.
The young man felt helpless. Powerless. And that made him
infuriated all the way to his bones.
His oncologist, Dr. Simoneau, said, “Jon, the tumor is
deadly. We have to start treatment as soon as possible.”
Jonathan could not say anything. The irony of it all
shocked speech out of him. All he could think of as he looked
at the scan of his brain was: How fucked-up is this shit?
Dr. Simoneau shifted in his chair.
“I’m truly sorry. There must be a thousand questions going
through your mind right now.”
No. Jonathan was seriously pissed and just wanted to
escape the doctor’s minuscule office.
Feeling nauseous, he did so, and called his mom.
#
Now, two months later, the cancer and chemotherapy
treatments had considerably weakened Jonathan. He lay in his
hospital bed, as livid as a dying fish. His eyes were rendered
useless; he could only see people as blurry, dark shadows. The
damage caused by the tumor was irreparable.
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Jonathan could hear the birds sing outside. He felt the
warmth of the sun on his face. Spring was definitely knocking
at the door. Jonathan only hoped his power would emerge soon so
he could get rid of that fucking thing inside his head.
His mind was made up: at the earliest sign of his healing
power, he’d use it on himself. And if it meant having his brain
burst into flames as divine punishment for doing so, so be it.
#
Nurse Annie Bellehumeur popped her head in the door.
“Jon? Time for your medication.” Nurse Bellehumeur had a
euphonious voice, like soft, soothing music.
“Come in, Annie,” said Jonathan. He smiled as he saw her
delicate silhouette approach him. She smelled so good, like
wild flowers in a field.
Jonathan thought he might love her. No, he was sure of it.
He loved her with all his heart and couldn’t wait to tell her
how he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her sweet lips.
For that, Jonathan needed a miracle. Well, that miracle was
just about to happen: as Annie gave Jonathan his pills, he felt
a familiar warmth electrify his belly. At last, his power was
back.
The nurse gently touched her patient’s balding head.
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“Where are your parents?”
“Having a quick bite at the cafeteria.”
“They’re awesome.”
“Yes. They are.”
“Well, uh - I’ll be back soon. To check your pressure.”
“My pressure’s just fine when you’re around.”
The girl timidly smiled as she walked to the door.
Jonathan shifted his head towards her.
“Hey, you like ice cream?”
Taken aback by the question, Annie turned.
“Sure, why?”
“I thought you might like to share some one day.”
“I’d love that. For now, get your rest. I’ll be back real
soon.”
After leaving the room, Annie went straight into the
washrooms and locked herself into a stall.
She began sobbing.
She felt ridiculous for letting her feelings get the better
of her.
She loved Jonathan too.
#
Soon after Annie’s visit, Jonathan’s parents were back in
the hospital room. As soon as she walked in, Margaret Theriault
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went by the side of her son’s bed. Jim sat down on a chair and
began perusing through a wildlife magazine.
“Jon, you got this in the mail,” said Margaret. “A nice
card from your uncle Gus.”
“Cool. I miss him. What does it say?”
Margaret cleared her throat then read the note in the get-
well card: “Dear Jon, I’m sorry I can’t be there to offer you
some support. I think about you every day. If someone can beat
this thing, it’s you. You’re a wonderful, courageous boy. Be
strong. Love, Uncle Gus.”
“Hmm - that’s sweet. By the way...any problems getting in
my emails?”
“None. Speaking of which, you got one from...” Margaret
turned to her husband.
Jim put down his magazine. He took a piece of paper from
his back pocket and unfolded it. “It’s from your old buddy Tom
Craig. He wrote: ‘Hey Jon, I’m in Winnipeg right now trying to
set up some servers for CitiBank. Their project manager is an
asshole.’” Jim snickered then kept reading: “‘So, when are you
getting out so we can grab a couple of brewskies?
Anyways...I’ll try to drop by soon to bust your chops like old
times. You’re still my favorite douche. Tony.’”
“My, he’s a bit vulgar, that boy,” said Margaret.
Jon smiled. “Yeah. But a good guy. Miss him too.”
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Margaret remained there, at her son’s bedside, watching
him. Chagrin filled her as it had for the past weeks. She
wanted to tell Jon something, but refrained herself.
Jonathan finally broke the short silence, as though he knew
exactly what his mom wanted to say but didn’t dare: “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Remember back at the hospital when you got sick?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Well...what you believe I did, I really did it.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “I always knew it!”
“And I want to try it on myself.”
“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” asked Jim.
Jonathan heard his father but he kept his attention on his
mom. “I need to get back home. I’ll do it at home, not here.I wouldn’t want the staff to see me walk out of here looking
like I can run the Boston marathon. It wouldn’t look...normal.”
“Don’t worry, Jon,” said Margaret. “We’ll get you out of
here.”
Jonathan’s father looked at his wife and son as though both
were completely nuts.
“We can’t do that!”
“Oh yes, we can,” retorted Margaret to her husband.
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She started putting her son’s belongings in a backpack, the
same he had used as a teenager. The image of her son holding
the box of condoms suddenly made her cry.
“Hurry, Jim,” she said, near hysteria. “We have to hurry!”
“We can’t…”
“Dad,” called out Jonathan, as calm as ever. “Just help me
out of here. Trust me. You want me to be home.”
Jim hesitated, but only for a second. He put an arm under
his son to help him out of bed. And that’s when Nurse
Bellehumeur walked in the room, pushing a stretcher with a
patient on it.
#
Nurse Bellehumeur and a male nurse gently grabbed the young
female patient from the stretcher and transferred her onto the
bed next to Jonathan’s. The male nurse stepped out of the room,
taking the stretcher along with him.
Dubious, Annie observed Jonathan and his parents: Margaret
had both hands inside her son’s backpack, while Jim seemed to be
helping his son out of bed. To her, the whole scene just seemed
oddly amusing, as though they were about to sneak out of the
hospital without telling anyone. If only Annie knew how close
to being right she was.
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“Can I help you guys?”
“N – no, we’re okay, thanks.” Jim had a ridiculous grin on
his face. He patted Jonathan’s shoulder as he eased his son
back into bed.
Jonathan propped his back against a stack of pillows. He
and his parents would have to wait until the nurse left the room
before attempting to sneak out again.
He turned to look at the patient next to him. In spite of
his weak vision, he could make out a small form on the bed.
“Annie?”
“Yes?”
“Who’s that next to me?”
“Oh, that’s Suzie White. A very courageous little girl.”
“What’s her story?”
Annie walked close to Jonathan.
“She has leukemia. She just had her chemo. Poor kid’s
beat.”
“And how’s it looking for her?”
For a few seconds, Annie wondered what to answer Jonathan:
the truth or the usual feel-good crap? She opted for the truth.
“Not good, I’m afraid,” said the nurse, lowering her voice.
“Doctor Simoneau’s outside telling her parents. It’ll take a
miracle.”
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At that moment, the air in the room felt warmer and the sun
seemed to shine just a little brighter as though summer had
decided to arrive almost three months earlier.
Jonathan closed his eyes as vertigo suddenly washed over
him. Or was it fear putting the room in a slow spin? It didn’t
matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Jonathan grabbed the
sides of the mattress and took a deep breath. The vertigo
disappeared.
“Are you okay, Jon?”
Jonathan relaxed his grip on the mattress and looked at
Annie.
“Yep. It’s all good.”
Although the nurse wanted so much to believe Jonathan, she
knew it was a lie; in all the weeks she had cared for Jonathan,
she had never seen him so sad.
Jonathan put a hand on Annie’s arm and said, “Help me up.”
“What? Why?”
“I wanna see Suzie. I still can see y’know? If I get
reeeaaal close…” Jonathan moved his face closer to Annie’s
until he could feel her breathe right over his mouth. Both of
their lips almost touched.
“Okay, sure,” said Annie, blushing. “I’ll help you up.”
Jonathan’s mom brought her hands to her mouth.
“Please, Jon. No -”
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“Everything will be fine, mom.”
“Your son’s all right, Mrs. Theriault,” assured Annie.
“Just taking a little stroll.”
“He just wants to see the little girl,” said Jim.
“No, not only see her...” Margaret hugged her husband and
let tears trickle down her cheeks. She looked deep into her
husband’s eyes: “You’ll be very proud of your son.”
“I already am, honey. I already am.”
#
Jonathan sat close to the little girl in the bed. He didn’t
bother asking the beautiful nurse Bellehumeur nor his parents to
step outside. There was no need for that kind of secrecy
anymore.
The young man touched Suzie White’s little blond head and
felt the healing energy emerge through his fingertips.
Immediately, Jon began having trouble catching his breath as if
he had just run laps around the hospital.
As for the little girl, her cheeks were already getting
rosier by the seconds. She opened her eyes and turned her head
to the sick man sitting next to her.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
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Nurse Bellehumeur brought both hands to her heart; she
couldn’t believe what she was witnessing.
“What’s going on?” asked Jim Theriault.
“Your son did this,” answered his wife.
“Did what?”
“Cured the little girl.”
Jim felt the hair stand on the back of his neck. His mouth
became dry, as though he had just taken a mouthful of hot sand.
“But...how?”
Margaret Theriault didn’t have time to explain: Suzy White’s
parents walked into the room with a devastated look on their
face. They were just beginning to deal with something no parent
in the world should ever have to deal with.
They saw Jonathan resting his head on Suzie’s bed and their
little girl gently stroking his balding head. The look of
helplessness in The Whites’ eyes changed to that of a puzzled
one.
“Please,” said Margaret. “It’s all right. Your daughter’s
all right, bless her.”
The Whites held each other and watched the miracle
materializing before them.
Annie slid her hands under Jonathan’s arms.
“I’ll help you up. You need to get back to bed.”
“Suzie will be fine.”
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“I don’t know what you did Jon -- but you need to rest.”
In the nurse’s helping embrace, Jonathan tried to lift a
hand to touch her hair. But he was rendered too weak to do such
a simple gesture.
“Annie...I can’t stand up.”
Jonathan’s flesh had suddenly turned waxy-pale, almost
translucent.
“We’ll get help...we’ll --”
Jim moved to help the nurse.
“Please, dad. Not now. Annie...I’m sorry, but we’ll have
to pass on the ice cream.”
“That’s all right, Jon.”
“I love you.”
“Jon -– please.” Annie began crying.
“Thanks for everything,” he added.
Jonathan slightly shifted his head to his parents. He was
completely blind now.
“Mom, dad -– I’m cold.”
Heartbroken, Margaret sat next to her son and took him in
her arms. She felt his icy forehead on her face. Jim stood
beside them, wiping his eyes filled with tears.
“You were right, honey,” whispered Margaret in her son’s
ear. “Everything will be just fine.”
“Thanks mom.”
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Then Jonathan managed a faint smile. His last.
#
Years later, Suzie White looked at herself in the mirror of
her bedroom.
“Perfect,” she said.
She adjusted her red and white cheerleader outfit, grabbed
her pom-poms, and trotted out of the room. Entering the
kitchen, she stopped in front of the fridge. A calendar was
held to its door by a circle-shaped Lion King magnet. Suzy
looked at today’s date: May 2nd, 2023. In the corresponding
square was written: “Regional Cheerleading Championships”. She
kissed her index and middle finger and tapped the date on the
calendar with them.
“Let’s kick ass,” she said.
Suzie walked into the living room and looked around.
“Mom! Where are you?”
Suzie’s mom didn’t answer. The young girl went to the
sliding door at the back of the house, opened it, and stepped
out into the backyard. Mrs. White was an avid gardener; Suzie
figured she must be on her knees, wearing that stupid purple hat
and those awful-looking gardening gloves, planting flowers or
vegetable seeds.
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The young girl did see her mom on her knees in the garden,
but she wasn’t gardening. She was mumbling something.
“Mom?”
“Oh, baby,” said Mrs. White as she turned around to look at
her daughter with tearful eyes. “Look at that poor little
thing.”
In front of Suzy’s mother lay a dog caked in blood.
“Oh my God,” said Suzy, dropping her pom-poms and kneeling
next to her mom. “What happened to him?”
“Her.”
“Oh, look at her. She must be in pain...poor thing!” Suzy
began sobbing.
The little female golden retriever couldn’t have been more
than a month old. She had bite marks all over her, along the
sides of her body and on her face. Her tongue hung lazily
halfway out of her mouth. Suzy could see the dog’s chest
pumping air in and out at an alarming rate. It began whining as
it strained to look at the humans with agonizing eyes.
“Oh no,” cried Suzy. “Another dog must have attacked her,
right mom?”
“I don’t know, Sue. A fox, more likely. Or a coyote.”
Immediately, the cheerleading competition left Suzy’s mind.
The girl lifted her head and stared at the trees that quickly
thickened for about half a mile behind the house. Suzy’s
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parents had never considered putting up a fence, for they
enjoyed the freedom of being able to walk straight into the
forest from their backyard.
The girl’s mind projected images of what might have happened
to the pup: a coyote sneaking out from the cover of the trees
and snatching the helpless little creature, probably left
unattended by a careless owner.
Hot anger rose in Suzy’s throat.
“We have to do something! Let’s bring her to the vet.
She’s still alive! There’s still a chance!”
Although the mom knew the young female dog was beyond help,
she said, “Okay, baby. Let’s do that.”
Without thinking about how the dog might react to her, Suzy
moved to grab it. The dog stiffened for a fraction of a second
to Suzy’s touch, and then completely froze as it felt the bolt
of heat that raced from Suzy’s hands electrify its weakened
heart.
The dog whined once, tried to get up, then slumped again on
the garden dirt.
Suzy’s head immediately felt as light as a helium-filled
balloon. She staggered backwards and fell on her backside. Her
mom looked at her and saw her daughter’s complexion turn pale.
“Suzy, baby...Are you okay?”
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“What happened?” the young girl asked, pressing a fist
against her thudding heart.
Suzy’s mom was about to say something when –
Woof!
The teenage girl and her mom jumped.
Woof!
Both turned to look at the dog.
Woof! Woof!
The young golden retriever sat on its hindquarters, looking
straight at both mother and daughter with playful eyes. It
trotted towards Suzy, climbed onto her legs, and yapped once
more.
“Look at her!” said Suzy. “She’s okay!”
The cuts and bite marks on the dog had completely healed.
Only the bloody stains remained.
But amazement turned to confusion as shivers covered Suzy’s
body. She looked at her mom, eyes tearing up. “Mom...what
happened?”
Before she could answer anything, Mrs. White blinked when
images of a much younger Suzy in her hospital bed flashed
through her mind.
Ten years ago, leukemia had triumphed over her daughter’s
young body. Then a miracle had happened and for Suzy’s mother,
there had always been just one explanation: that young man,
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Jonathan his name was, had cured her. Mrs. White and her
husband, along with a few others, knew that as fact. Now it was
time to tell the story to Suzy. And tell her that, in all
evidence, she had inherited Jonathan’s gift.
That realization brought tears to the mother’s eyes;
although she should find it wonderful, the thought of her own
child possessing such a power terrified her. Would there be a
price for Mary to pay for that ability? Had Jonathan’s cancer
been just a coincidence?
“Let’s go back inside and grab a cocoa,” she finally said.
“There’s something we should talk about.”
“Can I keep the dog?” asked Suzy.
“Of course, love. I don’t see why not.”
“I wanna call the dog ‘Hope’”.
“‘Hope’? You think it’s a good name for a dog?”
“Sure it is, mom.”
After considering the name and its implication for a few
seconds, Mrs. White said, “Yeah, I think so too.”
Suzy cradled Hope in her arms and followed her mom inside
the house.
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