Author: cksdays

The Most Beautiful Story – V

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Harrison opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to see enough of his surroundings to realize he had not, in fact, died yet. He was still here. Wherever here was because at the moment he couldn’t remember.

“Hey Pop,” his son Brian said. He held Harrison’s hand and squeezed it. “Still here.”

At this point, Harrison had no recollection of who Brian was or what he was saying. But he could feel the loving pressure on his hand and realized he was somebody he probably knew once. It made him frustrated that he couldn’t remember but there was literally nothing he could do about it.

“He’s awake,” Brian said to his sister Fran who sat at a desk at the other side of the room.

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The Most Beautiful Story – IV

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Up until this moment, Harrison had only managed to go to one funeral. That was for his father nearly twenty years ago and it was awkward. He didn’t mourn his father’s death. He couldn’t. He mourned the loss of his father when he left his family years before. By the time his funeral came around, he was already grieved out. So, that was a different experience than what he felt today.

Today he was at Mrs Carrington’s funeral. It was much different than his father’s. The anticipated crowd size was so much that the services were being held in a community center. Good call. Harrison looked around and didn’t see an empty chair. He could also see people standing in the hallway. Of course Mrs Carrington would have so many people wanting to come and pay their respects. She taught school for over 30 years. Every year there were probably 20-30 students in her class. She probably made each one feel as special as she made him feel when he was in her class. That was a lot of influence.

Rachel snuggled into his arm and whispered, “You okay?”

He nodded. “She was a great teacher.”

She nodded her head.

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The Most Beautiful Story – II

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So, Harrison hadn’t been able to write the most beautiful story during school. Big deal. There were too many distractions. But he was confident he could belt it out at home after dinner and before bedtime. Mrs. Carrington said he could do it so he had confidence it was inside him. Of course he couldn’t write it at school. Nothing good ever came out of school for him.

He endured the mocking from the other students as he walked home. But his mind was so focused on what his story was going to be he didn’t pay any attention to the taunts. Not even Clyde’s voice, who always seemed to rise above the din, when he called out “Do you want us to call you Harrison Carrington?” And then proceeded to call him that all the way until Harrison turned to walk up his street alone.

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The Most Beautiful Story – I

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            The first memory Harrison still vividly remembers is when he was nine years old.  Mrs. Carrington was his teacher and reminded him so much of his own mother that he slipped up one day and called her mom.  The other students laughed.  He never really recovered from that embarrassment.  At least, not for the rest of the day which for a nine-year-old, was an eternity. 

            Fortunately for him, Mrs. Carrington did actually remind him of his own mother because of her tender heart, she allowed him to stay in the classroom during recess.  On the pretense of helping her get the classroom in order but as he reflected on it in his older years it was to provide a safe place for him to avoid further teasing.  The small recess reprieve only intensified the teasing he received on his walk home after school. 

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