A BOY CALLED "KID" story

"Hurry up, if you are coming on this hike."

When my foster dad spoke, you'd better listen. I call them Mom and Dad because I am hoping they will adopt me.

"He's only a little Kid. Peter, give him a break."

Mom helped me find my lined boots and denim jeans. When I get upset I can't do a thing right.

"Mary, he's almost ten years old. He has to get organized sometime. Come on, Kid."

So I went. My backpack came along for the ride. Peter said it was our last chance to be in the woods together. At least before hunting season started in a few days. He didn't want me in the woods with all those guns shooting.

Peter is a great guy. I just wish he wouldn't make me feel like a wimp. "Wait up!" I yell. And he does.

"What's up, Kid? Can't take it? Look how beautiful it is out here."

"No. Yes."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's just...my new boots are muddied. And my pants are sopping wet from stomping on this old bush road."

"Do you think I'm too tough on you, Kid?"

Good thing he can't read my thoughts.

"What is it?" His broad shoulders make him look scary.

I stare at a large maple tree trying to forget my squishy socks. Should I tell him my feet are also freezing?

"Try and catch up, if you can!" Peter shouts back. Then like magic, he disappeared down the trail.

Now I'm alone and my fists clench and unclench. Too upset to even yell, I lean against a tree. I feel like a fallen hazelnut. Maybe a squirrel will hide me in one of his favorite spots.

My eyes grow large when my imagination sees things that are not there. And my blond head is sweaty under my tight cap. I feel like screaming. With Peter beside me, it is okay. By myself, it becomes terror-time.

I have to get going. If Peter is playing a game, it is not very funny. "Peter!" No answer. "PEETERRRR!" Nothing.

Now I come to a fork in the trail, with no tracks, only sloppy water. Something or someone passed this way. Take the right one? Come on Kid, Peter is waiting somewhere.

I try left. The trail takes me further through the woods, on and on. Only fresh, rested feet could surely make it to the end. Mine are tired. My stomach rumbles. "Time to eat."

Fingers fumble with my backpack. Egg sandwiches help me feel better. Peter said a walk in the woods gives you an appetite. Why does he always want to drag me along when he needs exercise? I should be home hanging out with my friends. So where is Peter?

"PETERRR!" No answer. My words must be lost in the trees. After hiking for a while, I look for a place to rest. Peter should be back soon. At least my stomach is full from a neat snack.

After coming to a clearing beside the worn trail I sit on a fallen log. A large willow branch is just right for carving. As I pick at the bark with the blade of my Swiss Knife, I can sense a pair of eyes watching me.

Ohhh. A doe still as a statue beside a Birch tree. Then she moves gracefully into fuller view, somehow knowing this kid will not harm her.

Her ears stretch wide and alert, ready to run. I bite my lip; my fingers scrunch. A few minutes ago my legs were dead-meat tired, now energy, like bolts of lightning race through them.

"Beautiful," is a word that crosses my lips. "Be quiet. Don't scare her," my thoughts say. The deer stares at me. I gulp in the view.

Suddenly I spot the orange jacket of a hunter standing about a hundred feet behind the deer. Oh no. Is he aiming a rifle in my direction? I hope he won't shoot while I remain right here.

Am I brave enough to stay put? Maybe the hunter will give up and go away? .

Peter might think this was a stupid idea. Imagine, the Kid placing himself in danger to save a deer? Maybe I won't tell about what I had done. This could be my special secret.

For some reason the deer is not afraid of me. Maybe he trusts a Kid to keep him from harm. As long as I remain in the line of fire the hunter will not shoot.

Yelling finally breaks the silence. And I can see the stranger lower his rifle.

"Kid! Kid!" Peter calls as he steps into the clearing. The deer turned and leaped into the deep forest, and safety.

The hunter began hollering. "Hey kid why didn't you just sit down or something? Bloody brat!"

There is definite confusion on Peter's face. How to explain what I did? I wasn't trying to be brave. It is much more than that. The deer needed me. It felt good knowing someone needed the "wimp." Just like I hope Peter and Mary need a son like me in their home.

My foster dad and the hunter go off to the side. Peter's voice is loud through the trees, "You're nothing but a crooked poacher. Besides, you scared my son!"

A shock wave slams into my chest. What did Peter say? Did he say, Son? I can barely breathe.

"I'm contacting the Game Warden," I heard Peter say.

Now I wait for my own scolding, as Peter came towards me, I know he will begin to fire questions, like sharp arrows.

"Why didn't you let the hunter shoot the deer?" would be his first question. Then, "How come you did something so stupid and dangerous?" Before he begins, tears trickle down my cheeks. Like a dam ready to burst, or an overblown balloon, with the air needing to escape.

Why doesn't Peter just come and give me a hug? I ask myself. I feel alone and helpless. And he just stands there, shaking his head.

I try to read his thoughts. He does not look upset. If only I had the courage to tell him I love him, even though he can be a grouch. But, I can't. Something holds me back.

Peter keeps staring.

I close my eyes and imagine what I look like. Tears dribbling down my face like a baby, knee bloodied. How much will it cost for a new pair of jeans? Even mud is caked all over my chest. And my winter jacket is covered in thistles.

All Peter does is keep shaking his head. And he is smiling. Smiling? Now I am confused. Then Peter opens up his arms, and comes toward me. Magical words make my heart race, as if I am first in the Indy 500.

"I love ya, son."

Tears pour down my face, but I don't care. My Dad needs me right now.

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(c) Richard & Esther Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/