Dominique

In 1994, we had a daughter who died at birth.  We were told ten weeks before her birth that she would not survive.  This story came to me one very early morning and became for me a way to survive.  If you want to see more of the powerful and mystical ink illustrations -- by my sister Shirley -- go to www.charleskramerwrites.com 

Among all the souls in heaven, there was Dominique.  Like all the rest, she was beautiful and ever-changing.  One minute she became a dark-haired lass leaping in joy, the next a golden young woman dancing through the heavenly fields.  Sometimes she turned into a gray grandmother or appeared as all three at the same time.   Ageless, race-less, classless, Dominique knew that in heaven, what defined a soul’s beauty was the glow of love. 

Dominique sat one day at the feet of a cluster of newly returned souls.  Three of them had just come back – died as they call it on earth – and Dominique sat among the fascinated souls who wanted to hear their stories.  “Oh, it’s hard,” said a man in mid transition to a freckle-faced boy.   He had scars all along his left arm.  His faced aged in a moment to an ancient and worn man.  “There’s pain and worry.  Many times I cried to Heaven for mercy, for relief, for some way to escape.  It never came, but at last, here I am.” 

A male soul sitting next to Dominique stared wide-eyed at him.  “Was it worth it?”  All 

three returnees laughed.  “It was but a momentary inconvenience,” said a female soul whose 

laughing eyes outshone the burn marks across her face.  “Compared to what we learned about 

loving others – ” 

   “ – And being loved,” inserted the third, a woman in the process of growing younger.  “Especially in a place like earth where so many things make love hard.  Yes, it is worth it now.” 

As they spoke, the heavenly air began to tingle.  The souls all looked up, excited.  

Warmth flowed through the gathering and angels sang.  They all knew.  The Creator was 

coming.  The Creator came.  All souls stared in adoration and joy. 

“Dominique,” came the sonorous voice.  All eyes turned to her.  She felt her face burn 

with embarrassment and ecstasy.  “I need you.”  She looked at the other souls, but they began to 

fade away, all certain without having to be told that this was not their conversation to hear.  The 

Creator made no move to stop them. 

“My — my help?  What can I do?” 

“I’ll explain.”  She could only stare in wonder.  “You know the souls who return, don’t 

you?” 

“Oh yes!” she said.  “How I long to know the depths of love they know.” 

“That is good to hear.  Yet there are others.” 

“Others?” 

“Others who made the trip, who are no longer on earth but haven’t been able to return 

either.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Lost.”  A shiver ran through her.  How could souls not return?  Weren’t they in the 

Creators’ care? 

“Many cannot return so easily because they have not known love.  The earth can be so 

hard.  Some die unmourned before they are born, others are killed young through neglect or indifference.  Some suffer long years without knowing what it is like to be loved or to love in return.  And others still have the love ripped out of them.”  Dominique looked at the Creator with wide-eyed horror.   

“Horrible, isn’t it?” asked the Creator.  “Immeasurably sad, too.  Their suffering is mine.” 

“They suffer still?” 

“How can they not?  This place is love.  They no longer have it within them so 

cannot return.  To exist without love is to suffer.  All they know is mistrust and the fear that 

they do not deserve to be loved.” 

“But everyone knows they’re worthy of your love.” 

The Creator gave a short, sad chuckle.  “By accepting the risk of becoming human, each soul gives up that knowledge.  They must depend on others to help them regain it.  That’s why 

there’s such a depth to the love of the returnees.” 

Dominique sat down, forgetting whose presence she was in.  The Creator said nothing but 

waited for her to speak.  She rested her head in her hand, confused.  “What would you like me to 

do?” 

“Help them.”  The words rang through the divine mountains though no other soul seemed 

to notice.  “Help them move beyond their mistrust and fear so they can once again understand 

my love.” 

“How?” 

“Make the journey to earth just as they did.  Offer little reason for anyone to love you – 

yet find love and acceptance anyway.” 

“Me?” 

“You.” 

Dominique’s mind raced, a sensation she had never known.  “But, how will my going to 

earth and finding love help them?” 

The Creator smiled.  “The suffering souls will watch you.  Yes, I know it’s unusual, but 

they will watch your life, feel what you feel, both fear and joy.  In short, they are going to 

experience love through you.” 

The two stared at each other in silence.  No one but the Creator could say how long, but 

much happened in heaven before Dominique spoke again. 

“Suppose,” she began slowly, “suppose my parents choose not to love me?  Suppose they 

don’t want me?  Do I join all those suffering souls?” 

“It is a risk you must take.  I can’t make anyone love another.  But I have chosen parents 

who I think will love you no matter what.” 

More silence. 

“And then?  What do I do after I am born?” 

“I can’t tell you.”   

Dominique closed her eyes.  “This is a hard journey you asked me to make.  Not what I 

envisioned at all.” 

“I do not require that you make it.” 

Dominique knew.  The Creator would never force anything.  But what should she 

do?  She had long wanted to go, but now it sounded like a more dangerous journey than the other 

returnees had known.  But the Creator trusted her, was depending on her.  How could she refuse? 

“I’ll do it,” she said after an age.  The Creator beamed. 

*  *  * 

 

When Dominique entered her body, it was already formed, tiny fingers and toes wiggling about.  At first she felt the weight of her duty to the other souls, of the importance of her task, but then she became aware of her surroundings.It was dark and warm with distant, echoey sounds coming from somewhere she could not define.  She moved around freely but noticed that there was a limit to how far she could go.  Already, everything here was so very different from heaven.

Time passed, she could not say how long, and Dominique noticed the space where she lived shrinking.  After that came a series of sensations she had no words for.  Pushing and rubbing eminating from the top of the dome which was her world.  A series of pushes came that swept over her dome from end to end, and with each came a new sensation, some sort of energy she could not describe.  Then came a voice she had heard in the past, a kind and loving voice, one she trusted though she could not quite place it.  “They are taking pictures of you,” it said.

What is a picture? she wondered, but could only imagine she would know in time.

After the picture, Dominique continued to grow.  Now she could push against the dome which had shrunk so much that it was always  within reach.  Yet she felt good, confident. happy.

Then one day, the picture taking began again.  Only this time whatever pushed against her world did so much harder than before and much more often.  Over and over the sensation came.  When it stopped, Dominique felt relief, but then it started again, and she became worried.  Dominique did not like the sensations eminating from the pictures, but worse yet, she got the impression that it did not please her world, either.  The word, “mother” drifted into her mind, and she remembered her mission involved a mother.  At one point, the mother’s body began convulsing, and it frightened Dominique.  

The word “father” emerged as an image in her mind, and though she did not know how, Dominique could tell when the father and the mother hugged.  After this last session of picture taking, they hugged a very long time.  The mother shook horribly, producing an eerie wailing sound that frightened Dominique.  It rose to high pitches then dove into unbreathing silence in rhythm with the shaking.  At times she could feel them hug and knew that both were making the wailing sounds she wished would stop.

It was hard to tell what was going on outside -- the idea of there being an outside meant little to Dominique but she knew it was where the mother and father lived.  And she knew that at first there was a flurry of activity which included sharp probes sticking through the dome and inching their way toward her.  One probe touched her, and recoiled in pain.  After that, there seemed to be very little motion from her mother and father -- “parents,” said that vaguely familiar voice -- for a long time.

Thoughts raced through her head that became increasingly morose.  Not only was it becoming increasingly tight in this world of hers, but things did not seem to be going well outside in the world of her parents.  She felt an air of sadness about them that confused her.  She felt fine, so what was the problem?  Or, am I the problem?  Do they not love me?  Will they reject me?  What have I done?

* * *

Dominique had no word for birth defects.  She could not know that she would never be healthy or that her survival was in question.  She could not know that her parents faced each other day after day unsure what to do next.

* * *

All Dominique knew was that things no longer felt right.  She knew that the mother was not happy but did not know if she was still a friend or now an enemy.  Uncertain of where she stood, she waited.

Then one day, for voice recognition had been added to her connection with the outside, she heard her mother sing.  Dominique remembered singing from her heaven days, and although those days were but a distant memory, she felt certain that this was different.  The love in the mother’s songs held a different kind of love than those in heaven.  It sounded sad and filled with pain.  But it was love, and that gave her hope.  

Some time later, she heard the father’s voice.  It spoke in long, uninterrupted streams in which the mother said nothing.  Sometimes his voice came fast and excited but then slowed down to soft and slow murmurs.  Occasionally, his voice became low and thundering.  

The vaguely familiar voice from heaven said, “He’s reading stories,” but did not explain what a story was.  Dominique thought she remembered hearing of them before, but she gave up trying to figure out when.  All she knew now was that she liked it.

Every day now, the parents read and sang th her.  And always, always, one or the other touched the dome that was her world.  Dominique could feel the gentle pressure and felt certain they were trying to touch her.  That’s nice, she thought.  They will be good parents after all.

And still there were times when the strange object passed over the ever-shrinking dome sending its unpleasant sensation through her.  Each time one of these picture taking times happened, her parents became quiet; they neither sang nor read but only took up the horrible shaking and wailing again.  Why do they do it? she wondered.  Even so, it was not long before her mother and father began singing and reading, and Dominique decided as long as she had her parents, she could live with the pictures.

One day, Dominique felt the urge to move in a new way.  She twisted and turned, shoving against the dome until she had done flip.  Now, she felt her head move into a snug place which was not particularly comfortable but felt right.

* * *

Something happened.

A squeezing sensation pressed down on her, not hard but definite and worrying.  After a moment, it passed and Dominique forgot about it.  Then it happened again.  Every now and then the squeezing forced her out of the sleep she was trying to enjoy.  One contraction came hard and now she was wide awake.  

Still her parents sang and read.  Other voices seemed to calm the mother, or at least that is what it felt like to Dominique.  How strange, she thought, I can almost feel what the mother feels.  It’s sad, but I think it is also love.

* * *

At so it was.  Her parents had discovered that their baby was missing kidneys and that there was no hope.  At its birth, it would die.  They cried horribly and wanted to get rid of this thing which suddenly could not be their child.  They were angry at the Creastor for giving them the joy of a child only to take it away.  They were angry at the child for not being perfect.

But as the weeks passed, they realized that Dominique was their child, their little girl as the doctors had told them, to love as long as she -- and they -- lived.  If they could not be with her after her birth, they would make the most of their time with her now.  It didn’t stop them from feeling sad, nor did it take away the hope that the doctors might be wrong, but it did help them know how much they loved the little girl who was their daughter.

And there was a hint -- just a hint -- that her parents understood the importance of her work.  They had no words for it, but they knew she was a special girl.

* * *

Only, as their understanding of her importance grew, Dominique’s shrank like the ever-tighter space that was her world.  Her memory of heaven dwindled until she had no thoughts of the Creator, no thoughts of the other souls, no thoughts of those who depended on her to help them feel love for the first time.  She felt her parents’ love, though she lost the words for it.  She felt that, even though things were becoming less comfortable, all was right with the world.

One day, everything went wrong.  the squeezing that had been sporadic and gentle before now came in frequent and sharp waves.  Dominique retreated from the pressure by burrowing down deeper.  With each mounting spasm, she worked her way down away from it like a frightened rabbit.  After a long time, she could tell her mother didn’t like it, either.

Hours went by until an unaccountable rush of energy swept over Dominique.  Giant waves of pressure picked her up from behind and shoved her out of her tight home into a bright, cold, raw place where the noises were loud and harsh.

In that first instant, her overwhelming feeling was disorientation.  As second later someone grabbed her and placed her in a blanket.  Then she moved to a soft, warm surface she had never known before but which felt familiar.  Voices came at her, louder than before but equally familiar.  She recognized her mother and father.

It felt good.  She gained a glimpse of her parents, but only for a moment.  Next instant a change inside her ripped her attention away from her parents.  The long, narrow tube that had always been part of her, that now dangled between her and her mother, seemed to stop working.  Its familiar pulsing ceased, and Dominique felt other unfamiliar parts of her body stirring.  She experienced uncomfortable sharp pressure, and the tube which she had assumed would always be part of her was suddenly gone.

Two things happened at the same time.  Her insides ground to a halt.  Things felt wrong, and she struggled to breathe.  It frightened Dominique, and she threw her eyes open as wide as she could.  It was not much.

But the blury faces she gazed into looked back at her with unmistakable love so strong no spirit could make it for anything else.  She found comfort looking tin their eyes and knew they were forever linked after only a few moments.

Then sleep overwhelmed her.  Dominique took one last look at her parents and closed her eyes.

* * *

A brilliant light greeted Dominique.  She sensed the Creator’s great joy at her return.

“Welcome home, dear one,” said the Creator.  “You have done well.”

She replied with a combination of anger and bewilderment so powerful that she wished the words back the second she spoke them.  “I didn’t do anything.  I only had a moment in the world before you called me back.  You didn’t tell me I wouldn’t have a life!”

The Creator smiled.  “You bear the marks of one who has made the journey.  But you have much to learn from your experience.  Tell me about your parents.”

“I think they were good people.  They loved me.”

“They cried over me,” she said, “and they sang to me.  They read me stories and, for those few moments when I was with them, I looked into their eyes and they looked into mine, and I could see the mixture of love and agony that you just can’t imitate.”

“So you knew your parents’ love?”

“Yes,” she said, “I knew my parents’ love.”

“Despite your inability even to live for a day?  Despite your inability to return their love in any tangible way?”

“Despite all that, I knew their love.”

The Creator smiled.  “Then, my child, you have experienced life to its fullest.”

Then she knew.  In and instant, Dominique understood that in the depths of her heart she had experienced the truest essence of life, the fullest measure of life, the entire point of life.  She knew how wonderful it was only when there was love.

“I see it, I see it!” she cried.  “My life was complete.”

“Like I said,” said the Creator, “you’ve done well.  All that’s left is to meet the souls you’ve been helping.  They’ve been watching you, trying to learn about love and acceptance from your experience. but that sort of vicarious living can only go so far.  They need to see you, to hear you tell them how your life was complete.  Com now, you loving sould, and share your heart so they can be free.”

And there was rejoicing in heaven that day.

A Pinch To Grow An Inch

School is a hard place with the fear of failure ever present, compounded by the fear of being unpopular.  Worse still, is the fear of being invisible.  Common student wisdom is, it's better to be noticed for being bad than to not be noticed at all.  This story explores what it means to be noticed, and whether that's a good thing or not.

Joey Carter hated school.  Not that he was a bad student, just invisible.   He was average height, average weight, had average brownish hair, and got average grades.   

Children at school never made fun of him, but they never invited him over to their houses either.  When he stood in a group of kids, everyone else talked, while he stayed invisible.  The one time he tried to speak up, the other children kept talking as if he wasn’t there.

Which is why he dreaded his birthday.  At Expansion Elementary School, children gave their friends a pinch to grow an inch on their birthdays.  It never hurt, and everyone laughed when the birthday boy or girl squealed in pretend pain.  There was even a pinch party every spring for all the students who had birthdays in the summer.  

Joey knew how many pinches he would get.  Zero.  Even when his mom brought in cupcakes the year before, kids sang a half-hearted happy birthday only when prodded by the teacher and gobbled the cupcakes with barely a thank you.  The second his mom left, everyone went back to their work without a glance at Joey.

To make it worse, this year his birthday was a Monday.  Joey spent the entire weekend devising ways to skip school.  He prayed for snow, which was rare in April.  He invented a new holiday called First Mow of the Year, but he gave it up.  If his parents believed him, he’d probably spend his birthday pushing the lawn mower.  Finally, he settled on the old standby.

MONDAY:  “Mom,” he called down the stairs early in the morning.  He moaned and held his stomach when his mother entered his room.

“What’s the matter, Birthday Boy?” she said with a smile, but frowned when she saw him.  

“I feel sick.”  Mom eyed him for a full ten seconds before breaking into a smile again.  

“Well, my sick boy, let me get the thermometer.  But I warn you; if there’s no fever, you go to school.  Birthdays are no excuse for skipping.”

She doesn’t understand, Joey thought.  His mom simply thought that he wanted his birthday off.  She had no idea how humiliating it was to have people look right through you when they were supposed to be giving you pinches to grow an inch.  If people really depended on those pinches, Joey would be about four inches tall.

Mom stuck the thermometer in his mouth, but her smile told him everything he needed to know.  “98.6,” she said and kissed him on the forehead.  “Nice try.” 

Slowly, Joey rolled out of bed to get dressed.  He put on his underwear and was just reaching for a pair of jeans when his bedroom door flew open.  His eight-year-old sister filled the doorway, a broad smile spread across the horizon of her face. 

Joey clutched the jeans to his body and crouched down.  “Ginny!” he shouted.  “I’m getting dressed!”

“Happy Birthday, Joe!” she cried with a little hop that made her red curls bob up and down.  Then, without warning, Ginny darted forward and pinched his thigh.

“Ow!” he squealed, rubbing the blooming welt.

“Pinch to grow an inch!” Ginny called and raced out of the room before he could catch her.  Joey slammed the door but smiled.  

“Well,” he told himself, “There’s one at least.”

When Joey got to school, he slunk in like every other day.   Nobody wished him Happy Birthday.  Nobody talked to him.  Nobody looked at him.  At Expansion Elementary, fifth graders did not take cupcakes on their birthday -- Mr. Baker did not like it.  So, as far as anybody knew, Joey did not have a birthday today.  As far as anybody, Joey did not exist.

When the lunch bell rang, all the children hurried to the cafeteria.  Joey brought up the rear, carrying his brown paper bag.  He sat down near a few other kids but not with them.  He sat at the “regular” boys’ table, the one for boys who were neither popular nor unpopular.  The popular girls led by Kelly Burns sat at the table behind him.  The popular boys sat at a table next to theirs.  The most unpopular kids sat at a table in the corner.

As the regular boys unpacked their lunch boxes or poked at their hot lunch trays, Joey pulled out a peanut butter sandwhich and, to his surprise, a cupcake with a little “11” written in icing on top.  Frankie Butler looked over and said, “What you got a cupcake for?”

Joey felt a twinge of excitement.  Maybe someone would notice him.  “Birthday,” he said, looking Frankie in the eye.  Frankie took one last look at the cupcake, said, “Oh,” and went back to his conversation.  Joey’s face burned.  He looked around at all the other kids enjoying themselves while he sat alone, wishing himself what nobody else would:  A Happy Birthday.

That was when something snapped inside Joey.  I don’t have to sit here and be ignored, he told himself.  After all, I’m eleven years old.  I can make them notice.  Before he knew what he was doing, Joey leapt onto the bench of his table and called out, “Today is my elelventh birthday!  Would somebody just give me one pinch?”  As soon as he said it, he sank down, his face burning, and wished he could disappear.  Why had he done such a stupid thing?  The other students stared at him a moment, some whispered and others sniggered, but soon they all went back to their meals.

Then something happened that stopped the entire cafeteria cold.  Kelly Burns stood up, walked over to Joey, and gave him a pinch on the arm.  Without a word, and with the entire school staring, she walked away.  

Alec Mally, the most popular boy, stared after her, then a nasty grin formed on his lips.  “If she can, why can’t I?” he said to his buddies.  Only, when Alec pinched, it hurt.  His friends lined up to pinch Joey, all competing to give him the hardest pinch until he wailed in pain and his arm looked like he had chicken pox. Then the popular girls jumped in, not as hard, but just as mean.  Where are the monitors? Joey thought as even the third and fourth graders ganged up on him and gave him pinches.

Joey did not take the bus home that day.  He walked by himself rather than face the humiliation of all those kids who pinched him.  All those kids whom he now hated.  As he walked, Joey thought, I wish each of those pinches really would make me grow an inch because then I’d be able to do anything I wanted to them.

That night, when his family sang Happy Birthday and his mother told him to make a wish, Joey closed his eyes and thought, Let each pinch make me grown an inch.  Then he blew out the candles.

TUESDAY:  The next morning, Joey woke up, his wish forgotten.   But when he sat up and put his feet on the floor he noticed that his knees came up to his chin.  That’s strange, he thought and stood up.  His head smacked the ceiling, and Joey cried, “Ow!”  A second later, Ginny pounded on his door and called, “What’s the matter, big brother?  Arms still hurt?”  She pushed the door open, stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at him, then let out a long, blood curdling scream before bolting down the stairs.

Joey could not stand up in his room even though it had a ten-foot ceiling.  He sat down on the bed again and rubbed his head, wondering what was going on.  A voice from downstairs broke his thoughts.  “Joey!” called his father.  “Please come down here.”  Joey tried to stand again, slowly, but gave up and crawled down to the kitchen where he knew his father was making breakfast.  

When he got there, he saw his father facing him, a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other.  Ginny stood behind their dad, trembling.  “Look at you,” his father said with a tut.  “You must be thirteen feet tall if you’re an inch.”  He did not seem frightened or even surprised.  “What did you wish for last night?” 

Joey looked at his long thin arms and legs waving around like tenticles, his elongated body, and his pajamas which had somehow grown with him.  He told his father about his bad day and his wish.

“You really do have to be careful what you wish for, my son,” said Dad.  “Wishes are powerful things.  Now you’ll have an uncomfortable day or two before finding out if your wish will stick -- but in the meantime you’ll have to go to school.”  Just then his mother walked in and joined them.  “Being a giant is no excuse for skipping,” she said with her sympathetic smile.  

“I’m not going to school in pajamas,” Joey insisted, but in reply, his mother simply reached into a bag she was holding and pulled out a set of clothes that looked more like tents.  

“Where did you get those?” Joey asked, forgetting his problem for a moment.

She smiled.  “Mothers are always prepared.”  Dad put a hand to Joey’s ear and said, “They used to be mine.  I - uh - had a giant problem of my own when I was your age.”

Even Ginny knew that Joey could not ride the bus in his condition.  She offered to walk with him, but he wanted to go by himself.  He had never been a giant before, and he wanted to think about it.  He walked slowly, and after a while the bus passed him.  Joey looked up and saw all the students staring out the window at him.  Joey’s heart sank.  Yesterday was bad enough, he thought.  Now I’m a freak.

When he arrived at school, he was met by two hundred children and all the teachers.  The children looked frightened, but the teachers never let on what was going through their minds.  After a minute, the bell rang, and Ms. Piston the principal jumped as if startled from a dream.  “All right, children,” she called, clapping her hands.  “To your classrooms!”  She started toward the school but stopped and turned back.  “You too, Joey.  You don’t want to be late.”  

That day, Joey had to sit cross-legged on the floor because none of the desks could hold him.  Even so, he towered over the other children who kept staring at him.  He did not like the feeling of their eyes boring into the back of his head.  When it was time for band, he shuffled to the auditorium and for the first time could stand upright inside.  When he tried to play his trumpet, however, he found it was far too small.  Mr. Adagio, the band director gave him a tuba, but even that was too little.  Joey ended up tapping on the bass drum until he accidentally hit too hard and broke it.

When he went to gym class, they played dodgeball.  Alec Mally was captain of the other team, and he told his players to aim at Joey because he was such a big target.  Joey’s team lost miserably.

At lunch, Ginny sold tickets to her second-grade classmates who stood in line to touch the giant boy.  Joey sighed.  He handed the tiny lunch sack he had been trying to open to a second grade girl and left the cafeteria.  He decided the tiny sandwhich his mother made probably would not have helped much anyway.  He was way too hungry for that.

After school, he trudged home alone, tired of all the staring.  The school bus drove past him, and the bus driver honked in greeting.  Once again, all the kids gaped at him out the school bus windows.  Oh well, he sighed, at least people noticed me today. 

That night at supper, Joey’s family ate outside so he could sit upright.  His favorite part of the evening was when Ginny got in trouble for selling tickets, and his parents made her give him all of the money.  But then, Ginny got her ball stuck in a tree, and his parents made him reach up and get it for her.  

By the end of the day, Joey was ready to be small again.

WEDNESDAY:  When he woke up the next morning he was not small.  He bumped his head on the ceiling again, squatted his way downstairs, and complained to his mother and father.  “Why haven’t I shrunk?”  His father looked up at him and waved the spatula in his face.  “I told you this could take a day or two -- if you shrink, that is.  You might be stuck as a giant.”  Joey crawled away from breakfast thinking about how it would feel being a giant for the rest of his life.

When the schoolbus came, he watched Ginny climb on.  On a sudden inspiration he yelled to the busdriver, “I’ll race you!”  The busdriver did not speed, but buses still go pretty fast.  Fortunately, Joey’s extra long legs made him even faster.  He skidded to a halt in front of the school five seconds before the bus pulled up.  The children piling out of the bus cheered and gave him high fives (which were low fives for him).  

As they marched toward school, Joey heard Ginny say, “You should have seen him get my ball from the tree.”  For the first time in forever, Joey felt special.  

Class was much the same as the day before, except Joey sat on the floor in the back.  “I can always see you,” his teacher joked.  

At recess, Alec Mally threw a ball onto the roof of the playground shed.  “Hey, Joey,” ordered Alec, “get the ball.”  Joey scowled down at him.  “Say please,” he commanded.  Children looked nervously from Alec to Joey.  Nobody ever told Alec Mally what to do.  After a few moments, however, Alec blushed and said, “Please.”  Joey reach up and tossed the ball into the crowd of cheering boys.

Five minutes later, one of the teachers hustled over to him.  “Uh, Joey,” she said, “the flag seems to have gotten wrapped around the flagpole.  Could you please unravel it?”

At gym class, they played dodgeball again, and once again Alec Mally was captain of the other team.  Joey had thought about this, and he had a plan.  Instead of trying to dodge the balls, which he could never do, he caught them with his giant hands.  Joey discovered that he could catch two balls at once and use them to block shots while his teammates picked off the other team.  That day, Alec Mally’s team lost, and Joey was a hero. 

When Joey went to bed that night, he felt a warm glow he barely knew.  But he also felt troubled.  What if the kids liked him just because of all the things he could do now?  Could they ever like him just for being Joey?

THURSDAY:  On his third as a giant, the kids hardly stared at Joey, even when he raised his hand to answer a question.  Maybe because his hands were so big now, the teacher finally called on him, and Joey gave a good answer.  He answered three questions in a row, and the teacher said, “Where have you been all year, Joey?”  He answered, “Right here.”

At lunch, he sat on the floor at the end of the table with the regular boys.  Alec Mally still wanted nothing to do with him, but Joey didn’t care.  He pulled a giant peanut butter sandwhich out of his bag  (filled with two full jars of peanut butter and two full jars of jelly) then cracked a joke.  He had told it before, but nobody had listened back then.  This time, everybody laughed.

That night when he kissed his mom and dad goodnight, he lay down on the floor with three pillows and five blankets and said, “This has been a great day.  People liked me, and not just because I was big.  For the first time, I felt like a regular kid.”  He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

FRIDAY:   Joey woke up still smiling.  He rubbed his eyes, yawned a toothy yawn, and without thinking stood up.  His head did not hit the ceiling.  Wide awake now, Joey twirled around.  He looked at his arms and legs.  They were normal.  “Ginny!” he called with excitement.  “Come here!”  His sister burst through the door and stopped short.  Her mouth dropped open.  She took a step backward, then ran down the stairs screaming, “Mom!”

A second later he heard heavy footsteps racing up the stairs.  When they reached his door,  Mom smiled, and Dad gave a little laugh.  “Looks like your giant days are over, Son,” said Dad, waving the spatula around.  “And I just made you five dozen pancakes, too.”

“That’s no excuse for not going to school, though,” warned Mom.

“Don’t worry,” said Joey, “I’m ready.”

Alec Mally was most interested in Joey being small again.  He said, “Not so special now, are you Joey?”  Nobody listened to Alec.  They wanted to know how Joey had gotten small again.  He just shrugged.  But in class he raised his hand and answered correctly.  In gym, he caught several balls during dodgeball and even hit Alec Mally.  And at lunch, he told a new joke he had heard on the radio that made the regular boys laugh so hard Mike Stellman snorted milk through his nose.  

Joey rode the bus home that day with all the other kids, and when he got off with Ginny, they all called, “Have a great weekend, Joey!”

The next morning Joey jumped out of bed and threw on his clothes.  He raced downstairs but was surprised to find the kitchen was empty.  He packed his backpack and called upstairs, “Come on, Ginny!  Time for school!”

Dad and Mom crept down the stairs still in their pajamas.  They smiled.  “I’m glad you like school now,” said Mom.  “But it’s the weekend -- Being happy is no excuse for going to school.  But don’t worry, Monday will come soon.”