Poems

Lonely Pillars

October 26, 2019October 28, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

I wrote this in 2008 after listening to, “China’s Only Children Face Great Expectation,” a piece in a series about China’s culture on NPR. A tragic earthquake occurred that right about that time. Something about it hit me hard, probably because I am an only child, so I wrote something about it.

gray concrete post tunnel — Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

Lonely Pillars

The earth has quaked and you pillars are crushed.
Death has taken you lonely pillars away.

Who will the heavy generation build their legacy on?
Who will build the next?

Whose strength will steady your parents in their old age?
Who will bear their memory, wisdom, and hopes?

What brother will stand in the rubble looking for you?
What sister will carry your memory with her?

Walls of nieces and nephews? They were never built.
And few and falling away are the remnants of your cousins.

The lonely bruised pillars that remain may mourn you,
But your architects did not pour into them as they did you.

The standing pillars do not share part of you and you with them.
You share only your loneliness.

I weep for you lost lonely pillars,
For I am an Only as you.

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Stories

The Longest Story in 8 Seconds

October 21, 2019October 21, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

Stories I know, and ones I don’t know, tend on a regular basis to flash in my mind as an image. I don’t know if this is normal or not, but it does surprise me when stories I don’t know happen to pop in and out of view. It never occurred to me until more recently that I could write them down. I don’t know that there is a great deal of value in writing them down (and often sharing them), but I certainly can’t see any harm. Whenever I begin to think about or write the story, I tend to find out what happens in them. It is incredibly satisfying. You may understand the feeling, if you have ever been annoyed that you could never seem to finish your dreams because you always wake up too soon. Then one day you find a way to finish those dreams even if you wake up.

A few Sunday mornings ago, I was singing a song with an eternal world view. For a moment, the thought of the fear of loosing children and life seemed less painful. I thought of my grandmother living till over 100 years old. Losing much of how she defined herself, even her memory. I wondered, how do you cling to life—your own life, but also loved ones’ lives—while not being afraid of letting go and not giving up after so much loss?

jordan-heinrichs-5MET6SgvC1E-unsplash (3) — Photo by Jordan Heinrichs on Unsplash

The image of a cowboy on the back of a bull or bucking bronco flashed in my mind.
Holding on.
One hand free.
Knowing he inevitably will be bucked off.
Yet, hanging on without crippling fear that would cause him to fail even faster.

I didn’t know the cowboy on the bucking bronco, but I realized it was a story. A very short story—or is it a long one? You can decide. I think the story it tells must be why there is such a draw to watching that sort of thing for “entertainment.” Some might feel it’s a gross form of entertainment because its touched with the threat of real violence. But I now suspect there is something more to it than that. Maybe it actually touches something much deeper. Most entertainment these days distracts from the reality of dying and living.

Life and raging bull rides inevitably end. For the cowboy, to ignore that reality is disastrous. However, fearing the inevitable is crippling, therefore equally dangerous. We could read entire biographies, watch whole miniseries on a person’s life, and still miss the big picture. For often the big picture is actually small, or in this case very short: a ride on a bucking bronco or raging bull is the story of holding onto this perilous life told in seconds.

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Compositions

Memories & Imagination: The past and the future

October 15, 2019October 17, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

blur book stack books bookshelves

Memories are real.

I can walk though my college library in my minds eye and remember the different sounds on each floor, the temperature change from one floor to the next, even the smell.

But that place no longer exist. It was destroyed in a fire. The structure is there and remodeled but it is not a library.

Its new. I have no idea what it smells like, and might even get a little lost there now.

If what you remember is gone, in a way memories are more real than what is remembered.

Where these memories are stored feels like the same place my imagination stays.

Does that alter my perception of memory or of imagination or both?

My guess is that my imagination changes my memories a little. I can’t tell if that’s a relief, if that is sad, or if it is scary. I suppose all three can be so.

What if I imagine my past differently than it happened? Without memory of the past how do we know who we are now? If we imagine a past differently than it was, how can we know which way we are heading?

Maybe this is why we need community, friends (and foes), and family to help us as individuals but also as a society remember what was, so that we can imagine what will be.

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Compositions

Noble Knight

September 16, 2019September 16, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

I used to tell my kids that integrity was doing the right thing just because it was right. I thought this is was noble. But I don’t think that is quite right anymore.

I thought of the character of the Noble Knight. He is honest, stalwart, has integrity, does the right thing when nobody’s watching. It is easy assume wrongly his motives come from himself. That he simply does the right thing because it is right. No. He does what was right because of his love and loyalty to his king, to whom he swore allegiance. It seems to those who meet the knight that the stalwart nature is a personal strength springing from himself. However, his strength is not from within to honor himself, but for the king, with whom he has an unseen relationship–for the king is not present.

Noble people are also loyal to The King of Kings. They do what is right not because it is right, but because it is eternal. When we see the noble person, we begin to trust them and rely on them. They teach us how to trust. They give us a sense of security, or a sense of strength when they respect us. When such people leave us or fail in body and breath, at their last we feel broken. When we look at them, we see a bit of eternity. There is nothing temporal about their nobility. Maybe that’s why it’s a shock that they pass on; they are not the strong one in whom we are hoping. No, instead our hero is weak, but we see the eternal strength of the Person who sent our hero to us. We must now choose to trust the One who strengthened our noble father, friend, or brother lest we lose hope because we were only hoping in what was seen instead of what was unseen. But what we saw was a testimony to what we cannot see, that which is everlasting, that which was eternal, that which was out of loyalty to the King.

“Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

When our Noble Knights leaves us, how will we respond? Will we be pick up their swords and shields? Will we find the One strengthened them?

Stories

House Call: The Cat Came Back

September 9, 2019October 17, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

…the longing feeling you get on a crisp Autumn day reminding you of things you can’t remember but without the joy of nostalgia.

Part 8

Chad sat outside his room hugging his knees with his head down. He held a small stuffed frog in his hands. It was the kind that felt like it was stuffed with mostly beans instead all fluff. Chad’s Dad had just come home and broke up a terrible fight between his older sister, Carrie, and his older brother, Matt. They had been arguing over what seemed like absolutely nothing, “as usual,” thought Chad with a roll of his very pale blue eyes. But today nothing became something that felt like standing over a large gaping hole. It made Chad feel almost sick with fear that even annoyance at his siblings couldn’t dismiss, even though he tried. The fear reminded him of the fear he had of his bedroom lately. Though it was not the same feeling, this was the longing feeling you get on a crisp Autumn day reminding you of things you can’t remember but without the joy of nostalgia. Not that Chad had any idea what nostalgia is, or any words to explain his fears. Somehow though the fears related to a sickening sense of dread of his room.

Chad’s Dad was currently walking through the neighborhood looking for the family cat, Charlie. The cat had run away that morning and a fight had broken out over whether it mattered if they called for Charlie or for Cat. Chad sat in the hall feeling like a whole was missing in his heart. But oddly he felt worse inside when he thought of the family pet as Charlie instead of Cat. Almost as if more than just his cat was gone. He wouldn’t of course noticed this if it hadn’t been for Carrie and Matt’s argument.

The kitchen wall phone rang loudly jarring Chad. He almost never made it to the phone before someone else picked up, but since Carrie and Matt were told to stay in their rooms for fighting he made it to the receiver first. He was so flustered he forgot how his Mom had taught him to answer it.

“UH, HI?” he said his voice was higher pitched with embarrassment.

“Chad!” said a relieved voice on the phone. “Cat, showed up at our house, but Mr. Wayne has him now. But to save Charlie and Mom you guys got to come back to–”

“What?”said Chad in shock, but the voice cut out and all Chad could hear was a dial tone. Chad hung the phone up staring at it in confusion. As soon as he hung the phone back up it rang again, vibrating in his hand. Chad jumped knocking the phone off the base attached to the wall sending it crashing to the floor, the ever present knot in the coiling cord tangled even more. Chad dived for the phone, sliding on the kitchen floor that was oddly void of cheerios.

“What?” he yelled still forgetting his manners.

“Hello, is this the Jeff and Jenn Jones’ residence?” said a calm man in a southern tone of both accent and politeness.

Coming to his senses Chad finally managed to put to use his mother’s phone etiquette lessons, “Yes, this is Chad Jones speaking.”

“Hello, Chad, this it Mr. Wayne. I have your cat here. He showed up a little while ago. I fed him and he’s happily sleeping in the screened in porch.”

Mr. Wayne had been their next door neighbor before they had moved. He had been like great-uncle to the kids ever since their Uncle Chris’s wreck. Chad didn’t know Uncle Chris because he was born after the wreck, but the loss the family suffered had brought Mr. Wayne closer to them. He had known Chris and Jenn since they were children. Chad loves Mr. Wayne as they all did, and he spoke to Mr. Wayne before politely hanging up the phone. His mother would have been proud.

Despite the directive to stay in their rooms Carrie and Matt came running into the kitchen to find out who kept calling, assuming Chad had forgotten how to answer the phone correctly.

“Who was on the phone?” asked Carrie in her Mom voice.

“Mr. Wayne, he said he has our cat!” Chad was careful not to mention the cats name, not wanting another argument to break out with him in the middle of it.

“Why did you hang up on Mr. Wayne!” Matt accused.

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did the phone ring twice! Huh!?” And without waiting for a reply he yanked the stuffed frog from Chad’s hands.

“Don’t swipe Matt!” yelled Carrie. Unfortunately for Chad, another fight did break out and he was in the middle of it this time. Carrie then tried to snatch the frog from Matt. Matt wanting the moral superiority of returning it to its rightful owner before Carrie could, but still not actually wanting to hand it back to Chad, ran down the hall to Chad’s room and threw it through the door. Carrie right on his heels ran into Matt and they both stumbled into Chad’s room. Chad stood in the kitchen watching them, not wanting to go to his room.

The fight came to an abrupt halt. “Chad?” Carrie called. “What’s all this in your room?”

****

Chad was a very active kid, he loved the outdoors, animal shows, climbing trees, and mostly jumping out of them. He was an athletic Dare Devil who seemed to rarely fall or get hurt doing the most hair raising stunts. His mother’s nerves had long ago been numbed by his jumping down stairs at the age of 2 and landing on his feet like he was part cat. With him, she had learned that kids climbing the walls was NOT hyperbole. His life plan was to grow up and be a paratrooper or skydiving instructor, or maybe he would just run away with the Ringling Brothers. However, he could never decide between trapeze artist or working with the elephants and lions. He was not afraid of anything. That is until shortly after his family went to a Labor Day Cookout when he developed a brand new fear.

First it is very important to understand one thing; Chad was not afraid of snakes. He loved reptiles of all kinds but snakes were immensely fascinating to him. He had just the year before rescued a King Snake from terrified neighbors who planned to kill it. Chad had been playing with the neighbor kids who were raking the leaves and jumping into the piles. Actually Chad had managed to convince the kids to rake their yard just so they could jump in the leaves. The kids were terrified by the snake and their Dad had planned to kill it. Chad, not usually a fast talker, managed to convince the Dad that not only was it a harmless snake but ate venomous snakes. It helped that he had one of his pocket reptile guide books with him at the time, though that was not uncommon, he carried it around frequently. Chad liked snakes, he was not afraid of them. To be exactly precise, his new phobia left him terrified that snakes were in his bedroom.

It began one night when Jenn and Jeff had just put the kids in bed and were sitting down to watch a popular sitcom about nothing when Chad began crying from his room. Jenn peered into the dark room lit with the faintest nightlight. What is it Chad?

“I had a dream that there were snakes loose in my room.”

“Chad! Did you catch a snake and hide it in your room?” His mother phobia fueled her adrenaline.

Jeff walked to the door.

“No. It was a dream.”

“What’s wrong?” Jeff asked.

“He had a dream about snakes in his room?”

“Chad, do you catch a snake, and hide it in your room?” Jeff was not afraid of snakes, but he knew his son.

“No. It was a dream.”

“Ok. So you know it was just a dream?” he said walking around the foot of the bed. Jenn walked away, relieved Jeff was handling the snake nightmare. He gave Chad a hug.

“I think it’s real.” He said uncertainty as though he was trying to make sense of it.

“You think there are snakes in your room?”

Uh,” he paused. “No.” But clearly he seemed uncertain.

Normally, Jeff would have turned on the light to show Chad there was nothing to be afraid of. But Jeff didn’t. He held back. It was not that he didn’t think to do this, but instead he ignored his good sense. He didn’t admit it to himself for a long time, but he preferred to stay in the dark and not see.

“Would you like me to sing a goodnight song to you again?”

Chad agreed, he was relieved his father did not turn on the light. Truth be told he felt he wanted to stay in the dark too.

To find out more about the Jones Family, subscribe to Rough Draft Paragraphs, and you can keep up with the Joneses.
Missed any part of House Call? Check out the links below.

Part 1- Stair Case

Part 2 – Wing-back Chair

Part 3 – Classifieds

Part 4 – Carrie’s Dream

Part 5 – Countdown

Part 6 – Phone Call

Part 7 – Matt’s Cat

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Stories

Catchin’ A Fishing Pole

September 2, 2019September 2, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

20170527_193222 — Copyright J. A. Goggans 2017

Catching A Fishing Pole

Early one Saturday morning, Dad took Charley and Joey on an adventure. The boys may have been a little young for adventures, what with Charley only being barely five and Joey four. Dad wanted to relive some if his old adventures from when he was a boy—fishing on the pond down at the old family farm.

“It won’t be dangerous for the little guys, there are life jackets these days after all,” thought Dad.

Down at the back pond of the farm, he sat the boys on a big rock that makes the shore on one side of the pond with their fishing poles to keep them occupied while he got the canoe ready to go.

He was delayed right off because it wasn’t long before Joey called, “Daddy, Charley’s bobber is going under!” Sure, enough Charley had caught close to a 2 pound largemouth bass! Now, when I say “Charley caught,” there was a fair bit of help from Dad.

Later, when the three were in the boat, Charley got another big one on the line. This time Dad couldn’t help him because he was at one end of the canoe and Charley was at the other end with Joey in the middle. As Charley reeled the fish in, it started struggling and fighting with the Charley. It flew out of the water; it was another nearly 2lbs bass! The fish was so big and was fighting so hard that it splashed all three of them in the boat. Fear began to grip Charley what with the fish fighting him and the water flying.

He started panicking. “THE FISH HIT ME IN THE FACE!” He grabbed his face, covering his eyes with one hand. The other hand absently held the rod.

“Hold the fishing pole!” Dad cringed.

“No! The fish hit me in the face,” he cried back, still holding his eyes.” The rod danced around dangerously, ready to pull out of his little hand.

“No, it just splashed you, it splashed all of us. Hold the fishing rod!” his dad pleaded with him.

Finally, Charley pulled his hand from his face and looked around. The fish was so strong, and he was so small he couldn’t lift the fighting fish into the boat.

“If you keep trying to lift him, you are going to get too tired. Just hang on to it until the fish gets tired. Be patient with it,” Dad said. Finally, the fish wore itself out just as Dad said it would and Charley lifted it into the bottom of the boat.

They kept fishing and were pulling in blue gill, one after another. Now, when I say, “they kept fishing” I mean the boys, Dad didn’t get much fishing in himself. He spent most of his time rowing the canoe, baiting hooks, and pulling fish off hooks as fast as he could keep up with the boys catching the blue gill. Since he was the only rower in the boat and he didn’t have anchors they started to drift a little in the pond and the boat began to sit at a funny angle to the casting direction. Dad helped Joey cast his pole since he was younger. Joey was in the middle of the boat where Dad could help him more. As I said, he had been baiting hooks and pulling fish off hooks for so long his hands were (I’m sorry to tell you this but it’s part of the story after all) pretty slimy. He had to cast Joey’s rod behind him because of the position of the canoe. This put force of the cast in the weakest part of his grip and with his hands all slick not only was the hook and line cast out,

But so was the rod!

It tumbled threw the air handle over tip, tip over handle and landed five or six feet away! It was so close. Dad could have jumped to get it if he was on land, but in a canoe, it was so far away. He madly paddled in the water.

Joey, now saw what had happened. His beloved fishing rod floated for a moment on the surface of the water and then slowly sank out of sight. His four-year-old little heart couldn’t take it. Tears streamed down his face as he began to sob.

Dad kept paddling. Maybe he could get to the bobber! It was maybe 8 to 10 yards away. If he just got to it before a fish got to it! Never, has any self-respecting fisherman ever hoped a fish wouldn’t bite his line. He rowed harder and harder. It felt like he might not ever get there. Joey held his breath!

Then, the bobber-

blooped

under

the

water!

“Oh. No!”

“Daddy,” Charley called, “Keep paddling! Get the string! Its floating on the water! Reach it with the paddle!” Dad saw it too; he never missed a paddle stroke! Just a little bit further. He stretched out his oar, as far as it would go. He leaned precariously in the canoe. There are life jackets these days after all. He scooped the paddle under the fishing line and pulled up. The string was caught a few inches from the end of the paddle. He held it high up in the air pulling it tight. A fish (and by the feel of it a big fish), was on one end of the string down in the water wrestling a worm and on the other end of the line lay the rod deep at the bottom of the pond. Dad patiently wiggling the paddle slowly, it still raised high above his head, trying to get the line to slide down the paddle where he could reach it.

It was a precarious moment sitting in a canoe with two distraught little boys not known for being still (if you know what I mean.) Finally, Dad got the line. Now, he had a choice. Lose a cheap kids’ rod that won’t last more than a fishing season or two, or lose a FISH. What fisherman LET’S the big one get away?! But he didn’t even need to look Joey in the eyes to know there wasn’t a choice. He forgot the fish. He decided to get the rod back. He started to pull. And pull, and pull, and pull. The reel didn’t engage—the entire reel had to be unraveled. After a nest of string was piled at the bottom of the canoe, the rod was pulled up. Dad caught the fishing rod! Now it was time to see about the other end of the line. This meant more line to pull up but, as luck or providence would have it, up came a fish too! Even though Joey couldn’t fish anymore, what with a scramble of string and an empty reel, he was relieved to get his water-logged rod and empty reel back. Also, they had another big fish! Even if it is was a rather unique way to catch a fish, to say the least.

The boys loved the adventure at the old family farm. Even Dad, whose adventure wasn’t quite the same for him as a parent as it was as a child. It never is of course. When they were all loaded up to leave, Charley looked at Dad and said, “Thanks for doing all of this for us, Dad.” No, the adventure wasn’t the same, nor would Dad want it to be.

Poems

Summer Update

July 14, 2019July 14, 2019 J. A. GoggansLeave a comment

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Which Turn Is It?

I feel pulled, pulled in every direction,

A little here, a little there but no North Star,

Transcendent lost in the Summer sunshine, sweaty days, and new beginnings,

I feel pulled, pulled in every direction,

How does one schedule the chaos into free time?

The wind blows, tumble weeds roll, and the days change; yet every day is the same,

I feel pulled, pulled in every direction,

Turn, Turn, Turn there is a season; which Turn is it?

Can I take captive the time, time to Turn chaos into peace and purpose?

But I feel pulled, pulled in every direction.

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A special thanks to the Byrds for this song I’ve loved for many summers each with their own varying Turns.

Compositions

Political Memes Make Me Sad.

June 17, 2019June 17, 2019 J. A. Goggans1 Comment

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Political Memes make me sad, even the ones that are funny. I’ve notice a demographic, its mostly Republicans/Conservatives in the Baby Boomer generation that fill my feed with Political Memes. Granted that’s probably a conservatively Skewed sample. These memes do little to persuade me, even if I might agree. I’m Generation X. I like you, baby-boomers. I think you can teach us a lot. Many of you personally knew the “Greatest Generation!” If we want to have any hope in Conserving Liberty (being Conservatives I hope we want that), maybe a little throw back to the past might teach us how to make progress with out undermining what we built our current civilization on.

I don’t care for memes because they are just a title. They don’t prove anything. They are just a sound bite. A meme might be your thesis but it does not provide supporting statements to support your argument. Thesis Memes are what is wrong with our culture. When people (often millennial) protest conservative speakers by shouting chats over their speeches it is childish to say the least. However, colleges are either too afraid of losing their enrollment or they actually believe that shouting a thesis over and over again proves the point. Either way, they cheer these students on. While memeing Facebook is a great deal less rude than shouting down fellow human being, it stems from the same problem–the inability or the laziness to express the reasons for a particular stance. If you can’t articulate at least three reason why your meme is correct. I suggest keep it to yourself.

Second, memes often carry incorrect facts. This might be the most frustrating thing about memes. Memes aren’t always up to date and people do lie! I’m not saying you are lying dear Facebook friend, just that maybe your meme was written by someone less honorable. Even if it was created by an honest person it is entirely possible that the facts are old, the statistics have changed, or there is a new status quo. Some memes I have check out are true, but so many of them are not and they are often easy to verify. I suggest run the statements of the meme through the Google or the Bing. If you find any sources to back up your info, post it along with the meme.

Third memes are impersonal. Facebook is impersonal enough. When I first started on Facebook, I loved when people actually said something about their day, what they were thinking, or told stories. So much of Facebook now is impulse sharing. I would much rather read what you think about politics than be spattered with political memes that are probably not even true. My suggestion let’s make Facebook Great Again and make your status an actual status of how you are doing or what you are thinking.

So, to my political Facebook meme posting friends, I still like you. I have not de-friended you. I haven’t blocked you. Please, though, I beg you, tell me about your grand kids! Or better yet tell me about your grandparents –The Greatest Generation– and what ways they made America Great so we can learn how to make it even better.

Stories

House Call: Matt’s Cat

June 10, 2019 J. A. Goggans1 Comment

adorable animal bed bedroom — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Part 7

Matt lay on his bed hiding his tears in his pillow. At first his tears felt shameful in front of his siblings and he hated them. But now in the quiet of his room the tears felt good–like expelling some of the pain that infected his heart swelling it and making it throb. He cried out all the ache, confusion, and loss of the last few months. So many new or strange things had been happening ever since they moved—things that scared him. He listed them off in his mind as the sobs escaped him—the loneliness of his oddly half empty room, the noises from the inside of his attic-closet that no one believed, his crazy dreams every night that made him feel as though he hadn’t been asleep, his baby brother Charley disappearing. And, if that wasn’t the worst, no one seemed to remember Charley.

His mother thought their dreams were just their minds processing all the changes they experienced after moving. His sister, Carrie, thought he was just imagining the bumps in his attic closet–that it was just his over active imagination, but no one had a theory about Charley. Everyone thought Charley was what he named their cat years ago because he had wanted to name his younger brother. However, his parents named him, Chad. When they got a new baby kitten the family allowed him to name the cat Charley. That’s what they thought, or what they remembered. Matt, on the other hand remembered both. He remembered another younger brother, one younger than Chad, who he had begged to name Charley and when they got a baby kitten everyone named the kitten Cat. He remembered playing a practical joke on Charley, the baby brother, when he disappeared. It was just a practical joke, he repeatedly said to himself and in his prayers. At first it was a justification, then it became a plea. Now Cat or Charley as the rest of the family called him had run away. Matt was terrified he would never see Cat or his brother Charley ever again.

After a while he ran out of tears and lay motionless on his bed. He still felt the pain and sadness, but now the pain resembled the soreness of an infected wound that had just been cleaned and dressed. Cat was Matt’s comforter. When Matt was afraid at night Cat would curl up next to him on his bed. His soft gray fur, warm body, and purring helped calm Matt when frightened by a nightmare. Last night was no different.

Before bed Matt had checked the knob lock and latch of his attic-closet to be sure they were locked and secure. In his dream, someone was calling from inside his attic-closest. The door knob rattled. The knob jiggled like someone was trying to turn it from the other side. The room was illuminated by silvery moonlight.

“Mom!? Dad!? Please comeback!” Matt heard from the other side of the door.

In his dream Matt was crouched in his bed, his back pressed against the head board. His blanket wrapped around him so only one eye peered out. The locked door swung slowly and steadily open in a way that made it seem to open completely on its own accord, revealing a pitch-dark emptiness. The darkness could not be pierced by the bright moonlight—like a whole that had no bottom. Then suddenly, just inside the doorway, outlined by the darkness, was a boy. The light that illuminated him was golden—like candle light or a lantern and didn’t seem to come from anywhere, but the darkness around the boy did not change. He was about 12 or 13. Staring, his eyes didn’t focus on anything in Matt’s room. He held an olive-green wall phone up with a long curly cord stringing across his chest. The boy fidgeted with something in his other hand, but Matt couldn’t tell what it was.

“Hello,” the boy paused. “Mom, come home.” He paused again, “It’s Michael….”

But before he had even finished speaking Matt heard a dial tone, then suddenly the boy vanished in a jerking sort of way almost like a bad connection. The dial tone still lingered in the air.

Matt woke up to hear his Dad opening his door to check on him. “Are you all right? Mom thought she heard one of you calling.”

“No, I didn’t, but someone was calling her in the closet,” He said.

But as soon as he blurted it out, he realized his Dad wouldn’t think ‘calling’ meant from a phone call and he also realized that he was talking about a dream. Matt was too tired to explain. Jeff meant phone call as well and he was also too tired to explain that their mother probably was just having a dream.

Jeff had check on all the kids and Matt was the only one who was awake and while he didn’t want to give credence to Matt’s imaginations, on the other hand the best way to deal with fear, real or imagined, is to find a way to face it. Jeff walked across the floor, unlatched and unlocked the attic-closet door.

He flicked the light switch next to the door frame and pulled the door open. He stepped into the room. “Come here Matt.”

Matt absolutely did not want to go in there. He hadn’t seen it since they moved in and he had been so afraid of all the noises and nightmares from it that he couldn’t bring himself to look in it. He didn’t obey.

“Matt.” His father spoke in a stern tone.

Matt felt his heart beat faster. He felt his fear in his throat. The relative few feet he had to walk to his Dad seemed like it took minutes. Then he was through the doorway, in the room, with his Dad’s hand on his shoulder. He looked around. The attic closet was a room about 8 by 10. The roof of the room started sloping about 3 feet into the room. At the far end of the room the wall was only about 2-3 ft high. Along the edges of the room boxes stacked up as high as the roof line. The boxes were labeled things like winter clothes, Christmas decorations, and snow suits. There was a random bit of disassembled furniture in front of some of the boxes on the far end of the room.

“Matt,” Jeff said with calmness, “There is no one in here. It’s just as it was after we unloaded the moving van. Nothing has moved and I see no evidence of mice or raccoons or any other animal.”

Matt nodded but did not fully hear his Dad. He had seen something written on the boxes behind the pieces of furniture that distracted him.

A few minutes later Matt was tucked back in bed, closet door re-locked and re-latched. Cat jumped on Matt’s bed with a loud purr mixed with a meow and curled up right next Matt. Matt sat up and snuggled his pet close. Cat was always there for him when he was sad, always comforting him. Matt sat there with Cat until his alarm went off. He was thinking about what he had seen in the attic. Written on the all boxes behind the bits of furniture was a name—Michael.

Cat had only one flaw as far as Matt was concerned. Cat always wanted to go outside and tried to with every possible chance. That morning they had left late going to the bus. He, Carrie, and Chad had forgotten about making sure Cat didn’t escape, but instead they had all run outside at the same time.

Cat darted between their feet and across the yard in a second. At that very moment the bus came down the street and it was all they could do to run and catch it. Carrie had forced him to come with her. All day at school Matt worried over his cat. He was mad at Carrie too. He wasn’t even sure if his parents knew the cat had gotten out. When they got home from school all three of them searched the yard for him. Matt kept accidentally calling him Cat instead of Charley which at first neither Chad nor Carrie noticed and maybe no one would have, since it is common to call any cat ‘Kitty.’ However, his big sister, Carrie, had a critical eye when regarding anything to do with Matt.

“Quit calling him Cat! He needs to hear his name!” she repeatedly corrected.

That made Matt defensive and eventually it escalated into a giant fight where each blamed the other for Cat (or Charley the Cat) getting away. Matt started crying and Carrie, afraid she might cry too, used her fear and sadness to fuel anger towards Matt and made fun of his crying. It was one of their uglier fights that only stopped when Jeff got home from work and broke up the fight. He sent them both to their rooms and got a box to use as a cat carrier and left to search the neighborhood.

Matt, in his room and unable to cry anymore, stared at the attic door. He thought about his dream from that morning of the boy in the attic. The boy looked familiar and Matt felt he knew him. That seemed very strange to Matt. Normally you feel emotions not thoughts or knowledge. How could he feel something he knew without actually knowing it? Matt took his suspicious gaze away from the attic closet and peered out of the window next to his bed. He saw his dad walking down the street toward their house carrying a box. Matt could not tell by the way his Dad carried it if there was a cat in it or not. Matt still didn’t know if Cat was in the box—dead or alive—or even if Cat had never existed like his little brother. While his dad made his way back to the house, all those possibilities were true for Matt’s cat.

To find out more about the Jones Family, subscribe to Rough Draft Paragraphs, and you can keep up with the Joneses.
Missed any part of House Call? Check out the links below.

Part 1- Stair Case

Part 2 – Wing-back Chair

Part 3 – Classifieds

Part 4 – Carrie’s Dream

Part 5 – Countdown

Part 6 – Phone Call

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