He went outside and sat on one of the tires behind the garage. The sun was setting, turning the western sky gold, red, and purple. Mom said that Kansas had the most beautiful sunsets on earth. Jimmy wondered how she knew, since she had never been anywhere else.
The windbreak of evergreens murmured. Winter was coming. Jimmy couldn't wait for snow, because snow would mean canceled school days. He hated third grade. Mrs. Porter was fat, and her breath smelled like burnt newspaper.
A meteor streaked southward, its white trail pointing at the town of Wantoda. Jimmy hoped it would hit the grade school. He listened for an explosion, but didn't hear one.
After a while he got chilly and went back inside to watch TV. Mom gave him a bowl of ice milk, then made him go to bed at eight-thirty. She stood in his bedroom doorway and listened while he knelt and said his prayer: 'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless Mom and Dad and Jasmine, in Jesus' name, Amen.'
Jimmy got into bed and under the covers. Usually Mom said good night and closed the door as soon as he did that, but tonight she just stood there, centered in the rectangle of kitchen light. Jimmy's bedroom had once been a pantry, and it had no windows to let in light from outside. He couldn't see Mom's face. Only her shape against the yellow.
'Remember, Jimmy,' she said. 'A prayer isn't just something you say. It isn't like a poem you memorize for school. It's what you use to talk to Jesus.'
'Yes, ma'am,' Jimmy said. 'I know.'
'I'm sure you do. But sometimes we forget that we know something. So be certain to remember what Jesus said about praying: Anything you ask in His name will be granted.'
'I know,' Jimmy said again. 'They told us that in church. On Easter.' Easter was months in the past, but he still longed for the taste of malted-milk-ball Easter eggs.
'Yes,' Jimmy's mother said. 'Yes, they did.' She started to close the door. 'Sleep tight, honey.'
' 'Night, Mom.'
'Good night.' The door closed. The room was black except for yellow lines marking the door.
As Jimmy lay waiting for sleep, he heard Dad come home and say he was sorry. Jimmy listened hard, holding his breath, but didn't hear Mom answer. That made him mad. She should say something. Dad didn't like it when she didn't say anything.
Jasmine started crying then, and Jimmy heard Mom hurry to Jasmine's bedroom. But Jasmine only screamed. She was probably seeing monsters again. Stupid three-year-old brat. She would make Mom and Dad start fighting again.
And she did. It was worse than before. There was yelling and crying. Then something made of glass broke.
Jimmy put his head under the covers and started praying. He didn't pray in a poem this time. He prayed straight to Jesus and asked Him to make Mom and Dad stop fighting.
The yelling became louder. Mom was almost screaming like Jasmine. Jimmy realized that he wasn't praying properly. He got out of bed and knelt again, putting his hands together with the fingers pointing upward. That must turn them into an antenna, he thought. Beaming prayers to Heaven. He imagined his body as a radio transmitter. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed the same prayer over again. Please make Mom and Dad stop fighting. Please make them be happy.
There was a smack, flesh on flesh, and a thump. Then the front door slammed and the pickup truck started. Its tires spun on the gravel, throwing some against the house. It sounded like BBs hitting a sidewalk. The pickup roared away, the sound fading fast, leaving Jasmine's screams. Then those faded too, leaving Mom's sobs. Bawling, Dad would call it.
Jimmy stopped praying without saying amen. Something had gone wrong with his transmission.
He got back into bed. He was mad, but he wasn't sure at whom. Everybody, he decided. Every stupid body.
The first, second, third, and fourth graders filed into the auditorium, their teachers leading them to their seats. There were rustling and squeaking sounds as they sat. The teachers took the aisle seats. Somebody laughed, and a teacher gave a warning. Then, except for coughs and sniffles, there was silence. The principal, Mr. Sturner, climbed the steps to the wooden stage and stood in front of the curtain. He announced that the school had a special guest who would present a special program. It was important, he said, that the children be quiet during the program, because the special guest relied upon his sense of hearing. Any chatter could result in serious consequences. Mr. Sturner left the stage. The brown velvet curtain opened, revealing the blind man standing at the rear of the stage. He was wearing a blue suit and black-framed sunglasses. Sunglasses indoors looked pretty strange, Jimmy thought. The blind man put down his long white cane, then walked toward the front of the stage. He raised a hand in greeting.
He walked steadily. His head was tilted upward. He didn't slow as he approached the edge. It was four or five feet to the concrete floor. He couldn't see that he would fall.
Jimmy wanted to yell 'Stop!' The girl beside him gasped, and so did others. Then they held their breath. They were afraid for the blind man. But no one said anything, because no one wanted serious consequences.
Somebody had to tell him, Jimmy thought. Somebody had to warn him that in two more steps he would drop off the stage. Why didn't one of the teachers do it? Why were they sitting with their hands folded, waiting for him to fall?
The blind man stopped with his toes at the edge of the stage. He smiled. The children let out their breath and murmured to each other. The teachers glared at them, and there was silence again.
The blind man spoke. His voice was loud and rhythmic, like an auctioneer's.
'I just heard a voice,' the blind man said. 'A soft yet commanding whisper in my ear. Do you know who it was?'
The children, fearful of the teachers, said nothing.
'It was the Lord Jesus, children,' the blind man said. 'I cannot see with my own eyes, so I rely on Him to guide me. And He never fails me, so I never fear. Just now He warned me to stop lest I fall and do myself injury. So tell me, children: Where on the stage have I stopped?'
'Right at the edge!' Jimmy shouted. Mrs. Porter glanced at him, but her expression was only the usual frown.
The blind man turned toward Jimmy. 'Thank you, young man. I didn't doubt it. Jesus let me get as close to you as I could without falling.'
Jimmy was amazed. He'd had no idea that Jesus spoke to anyone who wasn't in the Bible. He had seen blind people on TV, so that was no big deal-but not even on TV had he ever seen anyone that Jesus had whispered to.
'And I'm glad to be as close to you as I can,' the blind man continued, 'because I'm here to show you that you can succeed in this world no matter what your human limitations may be. I, for example, cannot see; and yet I live a full and productive life. Some of you may have your own handicaps as well. Some of you boys may not be as strong or as smart as others, and some of you girls may not be as pretty as your friends. But with hard work and faith, those limitations don't matter.
'I lost my sight when I was in the second grade, and the years that followed were difficult. I remember one time that some boys spun me until I was dizzy, and I walked into the girls' rest room by mistake…'
Some of the children gasped, and others laughed. Some of the teachers laughed too. No one got in trouble. The blind man went on with his story.
Jimmy was impressed. Here was a man who was brave and funny, who made teachers forget that they were supposed to make kids shut up, and to whom Jesus talked directly. Here was a man
