This story is by Daniel Wier and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
A Miracle Out Of Nowhere
“Up, up, up!” Marilynn said brightly to her young son, even though it was almost four in the afternoon.
Wynn, his bald, pale head littered with stitch and staple marks, slowly rolled over, always mindful of the port in his left arm, and muttered, “God, already?”
Jim, passing in the hall, shouted with mock anger, “You heard your mother! Pray later, right now, it’s up, up, up!” His dad’s smiling face popped into the bedroom, where he gave Wynn a ridiculously over acted grin, a thumbs up, and continued down the hall.
Wynn’s favorite television show was Collector’s Call, where people showed off their various collections of anything from old toys to famous cars, and he had decided, after watching 1931’s Frankenstein, that he was going to collect old movie posters. After discovering that an original Frankenstein poster had sold for around $300,000, he settled on a reproduction – the sole piece in his collection, so far – and looked to that for inspiration.
“Frankenstein arises,” he muttered.
“I heard that! Who wrote it?” Jim said, his voice receding.
Wynn, underestimating his dad’s hearing, said quietly, “Mary Smelly.”
“Close enough! Up, up, up!”
Wynn, who was pretty sharp for his eleven years, yelled, “If this is another trip to the doctor, I at least want some bolts in my neck!”
But it was Saturday, and Saturdays were Library days. Jim went out first to “start the car,” but Marilynn knew what he was really doing: trying to control his terrible grief, hide his feelings of helplessness, wipe his face, and put on a smile before Wynn and Marilyn joined him.
They got to the library two hours before it closed. Wyndall James the Second was absolutely ecstatic – not only was it Library day, it was also a no-needles day. Each of them chose a book to read, and pulled up chairs to what they thought of as “their spot,” a small table stored under a stairwell.
They lost track of the time, and what happened next was a miracle out of nowhere.
Library employees moved through the building, ushered everyone out, and vacuumed the carpet without seeming to notice that a family was camped out beneath the stairwell. Jim started to get up, whispering “What the…” but Marilyn clapped her hands over her son’s ears and glared at Jim. He sat back down, and Wynn, his bald head cocked to one side and a frown on his face, framed by Marilyn’s hands, looked so much like a “cognitive dissonance” emoji that Marilyn almost laughed out loud. And finding simple joy in holding him, his illness forgotten for a moment, was something she had not felt in years.
So Jim, Marilyn, and Wynn watched, silently, as the lights were turned off and the building closed down. The light from the nearby vending machine – to Wynn’s disappointment, it sold only bottled water – illuminated an area near the entrance to the library. They looked at each other and the otherwise empty library, Jim shrugged, and Marilyn said dryly, “We’re probably going to be in a bit of trouble when they open in the morning.”
Jim idly opened the book he’d been reading, a history of Progressive Rock, and suddenly he was there, at a Kansas concert in 1975, in a stadium-sized cloud of smoke, listening to Steve Walsh sing, “It’s just love, and miracles out of nowhere…” He slammed the book shut.
“Hey, guys, something really weird just happened…”
Wynn, water dripping down his face, said, “Tell me something I don’t know. I was just on the Dawn Treader.”
They spent hours choosing books, and being part of them for an instant, opening and closing them to vignettes, pieces of books they knew, and those they were curious about. After Wynn wandered off and returned with a copy of 1984 – “What’s this one about?” – Marilyn snatched the book out of his hand, and, despite Wynn’s protests that he was hungry, and “Why don’t they have any Cheetos in that vending machine?” (“Nobody wants Cheeto guts on their books, Wynn”) decided that they all needed some sleep.
She woke up at three in the morning, curled up in the dark nook beneath the stairs with the two souls who meant everything to her. Starlight twinkled in the large panes of glass that made up one wall of the library. She closed her eyes again, savoring the peace, the comfort of the soft light that she knew was shining on her. When she opened her eyes, Jim was looking at her.
“What now?” he whispered.
“‘What now?’ What now is that we take this offer of a miracle, Jim…”
They disentangled themselves from Wynn, as quietly and as gently as they could. He stirred, then stilled, with the barest hint of a smile on his face. Marilyn wasn’t sure that he wasn’t awake and listening to their conversation, so she and Jim moved to the center of the library. Good Lord, she thought, they were in so much trouble when it opened in the morning.
“We can’t just leave…’
“Yes, we can! Jim, we have a chance, a miraculous chance, to save him, to save our family! Maybe we’re all crazy? I mean, you were here, we all experienced the same thing – what do you think happened here?”
“I don’t know, mushroom spores in the air conditioner, or something?”
Marilyn gave him an exasperated “are you daft” look.
“But what would we pick? Everything is…”
“Real? Yeah, everything is too real, right now. Think back. When were you happiest? When was Wynn happiest? Not when we were reading about great adventures, not when we were learning about great discoveries – but when we found our way home! Not an adventure, but contentment. Peace. Being with the ones you love. When was Wynn happiest? When he felt safe. He hasn’t felt that in a long time. But that one book, that you must have read to him a thousand times…”
He sighed, and studied the floor for a moment. He looked up, first at his resting son, and then into his wife’s eyes, took both of her hands in his, and said, “You’re right.” He grinned and winked at her. “But we need to put all of these books back where they belong. I’d hate to leave a mess.”
They went to get their son – his unsuppressed grin revealed that he had heard every word they’d said – and, together, they plunged into the book that gave them all that they ever wanted.
–
The library opened at noon on Sundays. Kaia and her dad, regular visitors at opening time, made their way to their favorite spot, a small table stored under a stairwell. Kaia had chosen a book, and with an eagerness seldom mustered by any but kindergartners, said, “Daddy, read this one to me!”
“I read that one to you every night. Don’t you want to find something different? This is a library, after all…”
“But this one is different! Read it read it read it! Please?”
Her dad started reading. The book, Where, Oh Where Is Huggle Buggle Bear?, “Written by Katherine Sully, ill-uh-stray-ted by Amporo Ortiz!’ said Kaia triumphantly, tells the story of a child looking for their lost bear, only to find all of their toys lined up on their bed when it’s time to go to sleep. Kaia and her dad read the book together, as they had for years, but on the last page, there was a difference. At the end of the book, Huggle Buggle Bear was there – “Night-night!” – with his friends, but there were three new friends, whole and hale, with not a stitch or a staple, or any sadness, anywhere.
Leave a Reply