LeJeune Media

 

Chapter 2

 

THE BOY ENJOYED a childhood and adolescence of virgin harmony, where untainted forever was the only future he could expect. The red of death had certainly shredded his mind in the first year at the cabin, but his caretaker had always been there to replenish him with good thoughts and a good spirit. Soon the boy was able to swim in life’s warm waters for an entire day and night without hearing the bloodcurdling cries and screams and thudding screen doors of yesteryear.

As he grew, the boy learned to enjoy his days out at play and the warm embrace of the cabin with his friend. His world was small, contained, away from the influence of the outside world, a big spherical painting flecked with an array of interlacing colors that simply fit together for no reason other than that it was the mere will of God, the great Father of the sky.

For sixteen years it was like that. And the pain passed.

And then it happened again.

It wasn’t a day unlike any other. The boy left the cabin early as he always had, free and happy with the promise of a new adventure. He said goodbye for the day to the man who had raised him.

“Farewell, Chase,” said his friend.

It was a strange thing for him to say, Chase thought, having never heard him say that particular word before, but it was soon forgotten as the voice of his hungry belly lead him into the woods.

He returned a few hours later after an unproductive hunt. When he slumped up the cabin’s front steps, he saw that the door was not closed. Something was wrong. His friend would never leave the door open, he knew, and the truth of the situation was somehow immediate. Chase called for him inside the cabin and again to the surrounding trees, but it was a mere formality. The only response was the familiar buzzing of locusts and the gurgling of water in the stream.

“Budduh,” as he affectionately called his caretaker even after his powers of speech matured, was gone. He had said “farewell” and that had been odd, and now he knew why. His friend had planned to leave. He had purposely left Chase behind. The only thing he had left behind was a wooden cross on the dinner table. It had an inscription, and it read WITH YOU ALWAYS.

Chase’s stomach told him to be angry later. It was time to worry about food right now. He grabbed a wooden spear and crossed to the southern fringe of the plot, where the stream calmed in a bend just before curving into a bed of rocks. It was here that the water crashed and made the pleasant rushing sound Chase had napped to so often over the years.

The spear pounced twice and produced two fish, an economical feat Chase had never before accomplished. He cursed the wasteful day he’d spent in the woods hunting for a hog he could never outwit, and then he cursed the second fish, wondering why he’d even wasted his time on it.

Still, he roasted the meat with boyish, trusting optimism. He sat down at the table and ate his meal, alternating between looking at the second fish and looking at the door. After an hour, he made up his mind. He greedily grabbed the second fish and tore into it as well. Cold reminiscence welled in his mind. There weren’t many significant memories to reflect on but Budduh had been there, and it was “budduh”hood and it was real. Budduh had taught Chase everything he knew, especially about a man named Jesus who once walked the earth and died a very painful death by crucifixion, all out of the pure love he had for men and women. Chase had always been enchanted by this mysterious Jesus, but as a child it was difficult to believe.

“Why, if this man loves me so much, did he take Mama and Papa away?”

His friend would smile and assure Chase that Mama and Papa were in a happier place and were looking forward to being reunited with him some day.

“Happier than here?” Chase asked.

Yes, the man would say, happier than here.

“And I’ll get to see them again one day?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“One day.”

His friend was adamant in speaking of patience through prayer, fasting, and reflection, instilling in Chase a deep desire to meet this Jesus, this man who had suffered so much for him. Now suddenly it was all he could think about. A man suffering such agony for no reason. He felt a stinging kinship to him.

His soul was a sucking drain and every thought and every truth was twisting away, going, going. The questions flooded his mind like a summer storm. The colors turned black and red again and images of porches, forks and swords clashed in his mind in all out warfare. He cursed his life, he cursed the bones on his plate, he cursed the cross in front of him. Satisfying his primal need for food had silenced his stomach, and now, now it was time to hate. It was time to let the anger sizzle. In that one moment, when his hunger transformed from physical to spiritual, the pain of living was unbearable. It had all gone away. The blood. The porch. Her fingers curled around the fork. And now it was back, he was back, even more real and blacker than before.

“You don’t care about me, Jesus. You might have done all those things. You might have died for some. But not me. You didn’t die for me.”

His tears flowed in a miserable world below a miserable God who took everyone he loved away. He tossed the cross to the floor where he wouldn’t be bothered by it again, and after nibbling a little more on the bones, he crashed into his bed and fell asleep, a slumber that seemed to last a lifetime.

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***Dream Chase is the wholly reimagined version of The Final Chase (out of print, but used ones still circulating) and the author’s preferred version of the story. It is better, and frankly, more readable. Please consider this as you make your purchasing decision.