Laura Dehmer
East Chapel Hill High School
Sponsored by Mary Beth Braker
Spring 2000

Laura Dehmer reads
"Smokey Mountain Taffy Logs"
at the annual luncheon of the
North Carolina English Teachers' Association
in October 2000

Smoky Mountain Taffy Logs

The summer air must have crept in my window overnight because I could have almost tasted the crisp air. "What's for breakfast?" I yelled downstairs as I grabbed my robe.

"Come down as soon as you are ready; your breakfast is getting cold," my mother replied over the kettle's whistle. She always had breakfast ready at eight o'clock no matter what day of the week.

"Is dad already gone?" I mumbled as I ran down the stairs.

"Honey, you know your brother leaves before seven every morning except Sunday."

I paused, got the orange juice, and while I poured, began to ramble, "I know--I just thought. . . .

"How is my brand new eleven-year-old today?" my dad surprisingly said from across the room. He was sitting in his chair that was placed right in front of the TV. It was definitely his chair, except when Daisy, our dog, took it over while he was at work.

"Dad!" I flew across the room as if I had not seen him in years. I jumped into his arms and sat in his lap. He groaned as I got comfortable, then smiled and said,

"Hey Birthday Girl! I decided to go in a couple of hours late, since it is my daughter's birthday, and I figured the office could wait. Since I am here, may I have breakfast with the best eleven-year-old in the world?" I grinned and acted as if I needed to think about it.

After my pause, I whispered, "Yes."

My mom always had a way of making my birthday meals taste different than all the other meals she cooked. I guess they tasted better because she wanted them to be the best.

"John, your sister is up, come down here for breakfast."

We all heard a huge clank, then my brother replied, "In a minute, Mom." My mom shrugged her shoulders and glared at father as if he was the one who did not come to the table on time, while I savored every bite of my chocolate-chip pancakes.

John came tripping down the stairs. He threw his shoes across the floor and slid into his seat. My brother is getting ready to turn thirteen, and he thinks he owns the world.

"So how old are you now?"

"Eleven." Even though he wants to act like he doesn't care, I guess all that is important is that deep down he really does. I'll never forget the time that our next door neighbor, Chris, tried to push me around. John told me to stay at home, and later that afternoon, he came home and said that I would never have to worry about Chris again. He never said anything about it after that, and I did not dare ask.

The breakfast food did not stop coming that morning for about thirty minutes; it was cake after pancake. Around nine o'clock my father explained how he would love to stay at home and spend time with me, but someone has to put food on the table. I have heard this speech before; it seemed like nothing was new when it came to my dad and work. Day in and day out he left, came home, ate cereal, and watched the evening news. Sometimes he would drift off to sleep while watching the news, and either mom or I would have to wake him up. He kept talking about work and how important it was, until he picked up his briefcase. My father gave us pats on the head as we finished our last bites of breakfast and solemnly walked out the door. For my father, every day was already planned for him when he woke up, but for me, each day had something new to explore.

It was two weeks into summer, and my best friend, Kailey, had left for a trip with her family. She would be back on Saturday, but for me, a Monday to a Saturday seemd like forever to wait.

Sometimes exploring by myself was fun, especially when the sun was out, and all the squirrels were running around. During the summertime it seemed like everything was talking. You could hear the animals talking with each other, but the trees spoke softer as they swayed with the breeze. I wanted to be outside; so if Kailey was not in town, then I would see if I could tag along with John. That day, my brother said that he was going to walk to the store for Mom. Even though I was scared to ask if I could go, I did anyway. For some strange reason, he agreed to let me tag along. I wore my overalls with the white lace patch on the right knee. By the time my mom was finishing, up my last pigtail, my brother yelled, "Come on, I'm ready." The screened-in porch door shut. Well, I just knew that if I wanted to go, then I better get down there.

John was in his regular Levi's and T-shirt. The general store was about a mile from my house, but if you cut through on the path that my brother and his friends had made, you could be there in ten minutes. My brother never said too much to me, but he did not have to. I was still excited that he let me come with him. One dollar sat in my pocket, and I knew that if I only got a small pack of jellybeans, then I would have enough left over to buy him one too. While I was thinking about jellybeans, John was whacking at branches and picking up different things that he saw on the path. I heard the creek beside the path, the site of our frequent rock-skipping contests, which John always won. Today was different; John just did not seem like himself, so I decided not to ask if he wanted to play.

We made it to the store in no time; my brother went down and got the bread, while I went on and bought two packs of jellybeans. Once we stepped out of the store, I gave John his pack. He just grinned and put them in his pocket. Now, I know that we had just finished breakfast, but neither of us would ever turn down a pack of jelly beans. I did not understand why he didn't open them right then.

On the walk home, my brother was not whacking branches like he had on our way there. "Are you OK?"

"I'm just not feeling. . . ." I was a few steps in front of him, and I heard the bag of bread drop; then, I heard his body fall.

John?" I turned and my brother was on the ground shaking. It was like something had taken over his body, making him bounce and roll on the ground. "John. . . stop! It is not funny. . . John you are scaring me!" He just kept shaking. The few seconds that I stood there were like those long minutes you have to spend waiting outside of the dentist's office. You know what you should do, but sometimes you are just too scared to even move. My breathing felt as if it was screaming loud and clear on its own . I didn't know what to do; I turned and ran home. I wanted to scream, but I could not get a sound to come out. Luckily, we were already half way home when John had collapsed. I was almost to our house when my mom stepped out on the porch.

"Anne, what's wrong?" By the time she finished saying it, I was already to the steps. I pointed to the path,

"John . . . fell. . . shaking." That was the first time I had ever seen my mom panic. Mr. Evans, who has been our neighbor since I can remember, was in his yard and said he would call 911, and show the paramedics to the path.

"Anne, you are going to have to show me where John is."

I had a cramp in my side, the kind you get from running really hard. For some reason it didn't matter; I just looked in my mom's eyes, turned around and began to run down the same path. My mom was right beside me, so then I wasn't as scared. With just a few minutes of running we had sight of John; he was just laying there. My mom began to run faster than me; I couldn't keep up, but for some reason 1 didn't want to. My heart pounding; I did not even feel the cramp in my side anymore. John had stopped shaking, and he was just lying there. I hate to say it, but he was lying there as if he had been shot and was dead. My mom knelt down beside him and began to brush his hair back. She was breathing so hard, but somehow she managed to get his name out.

"John . . . answer me honey . . . John, Mom is here." She just kept repeating those words over and over again. I stood back towards the edge of the woods; I had this sick feeling in my stomach. It was the kind when you eat something way too fast and your stomach just plain aches. Each time my mom spoke, her voice got softer and softer.

The paramedics came running down the path.

"Over here!" They were the first words I had been able to yell since John fell. They told my mom to step beside me while they rolled John onto a board. My mom came over and put her arm around me. Her whole body was quivering, but I do not think that she wanted me to know that she was frightened. The paramedics put an oxygen mask around his face, and asked my mom all sorts of questions.

"Is he allergic to anything? Has he ever had a seizure before?" It just seemed like one muffled sentence to me. They were carrying John away; left, in the dirt, was the bag of jellybeans I had bought him. I picked them up, just as my mom picked up the bag of bread. We both walked slowly behind the board which held John. My mom kept saying that everything was going to be okay; they were going to take good care of him. Before she went to the hospital, my mom took me to Mr. Evans', where I stayed most of the evening.

I cannot make myself stop thinking about John and whether or not he was really hurt. All I wanted to do was to see my brother. Since the moment John fell, everything had been a blur to me. That night after they came home from the hospital, my parents sat me down and talked to me for a while. They said that John had to stay in the hospital overnight, and the doctors wanted to do more tests, but he was going to be okay. Even though my parents told me that everything was going to be okay, I knew by the way my mom's eyes looked that everything was not all right.

Later that evening, I could hear them talking, but their voices were not normal. They bad a sick sound to them. Even though I like to make my own decisions, I always looked up to my parents, but then, their voices sounded like they needed somebody to tell my parents that everything was going to be all right. They came in my room later. My dad sat down on my left side, and my mom sat on the other. I sat back, then leaned my head on my mom's shoulder.

"We are sorry that this had to happen on your birthday, but John was not feeling good. Your mom and I have been talking, and we decided that it would be best to tell you about your brother because we think you are old enough to hear this." My dad pulled me onto his lap; then my mom picked a tissue from the table. "A lot of doctors saw John today, and some more are going to see him tomorrow, but the doctors know that John has brain cancer."

My mom scooted closer, then put her arm around my dad. I had only heard the word cancer a couple of times, and I was not sure what it was. I just looked at them, hoping that they would know I did not really understand what they meant.

"The doctors did many tests, and they are going to be able to make him better. John is going to be in the hospital because he has to have an operation, but the operation will help him get better." I did not know if I should cry or just sit and act as if I were comfortable with everything. I could tell my mom was holding back her tears. My parents were always the ones who hugged and comforted me, but I felt that I needed to comfort them instead.

"I know this is a lot for you to take in, and we are very proud of you for being So strong. If we are all strong for John, the sooner he will be able to come home to us. You hang in here, honey." They held me for a while, which I didn't mind; then I feel asleep.

Over the next couple of weeks, lots of people came to visit. Some people came whom I had never met before. People brought food, and some just came to talk with my parents. My parents would alternate nights with my brother. They said that 1 would not be able to see him for another week. I moped around the house. Even though it felt like time was lazy, and not moving some days, John's surgery came up really fast. My parents said the surgery was going to take a few hours, but they would be thinking of me the whole time while they were at the hospital.

After the day John had surgery and my parents had returned home, they were either crying, hugging or talking to someone who stopped by our house. I had hardly set a foot out of the house, even though my friend Kailey had been back from her trip for days. John was coming home tomorrow, and I was scared. I prayed every night for the day that he would come home, and now that it was here I did not know what to do. There was a special bed in the living room for John when he came home. Sometimes, when I really missed John I would sneak in his room and just lay in his bed holding the sack of jellybeans that I had bought him. He would

normally never let me in his room, but I just felt like I had to go in there and be close to his things.

The next morning my mom didn't go to the hospital; she stayed home. She cooked for hours, making my brother's favorite things. That afternoon, the doorbell rang, and my dad and brother were on the door step. John was in a wheel chair and had a numb look on his face.

"I'm so glad that you are home; mom has been cooking all of your favorite things, just wait until you see."

"I'm not hungry, I just want to go to my room."

I could not believe it, after all of this time, that was all he had to say to me. At that point my eyes filled with tears, and I ran out of the door. I had no idea where I was going, but I just had to leave. I ran to the edge of the path, then stopped and cried. I had wanted to cry for so long, but I did not want to make my parents upset. I'm not sure why neither of my parents came after me that day, but I think they both knew exactly why I ran off. I cried for a while, but I could tell the sun was going down, so I walked home. My dad was sitting in his chair when I walked in.

"Anne is that you? Come over here for a minute, I want to talk to you." I wasn't sure if I was in trouble, but I went over to him and sat on the couch opposite of where he was sitting. "Anne, do you know where I'm from?"

"North Carolina"

"That is where I was born, just like you were born here. I lived in North Carolina for almost twenty years; it is also where I met your mother. You could drive, in one day, from the mountains all the way to the ocean. All of my childhood memories are locked in those road trips my family used to make. Remember me telling you that one day I would take John and then you to see it?" I just nodded my head and sat on my dad's lap; I just felt more comfortable sitting there than on the couch all by myself.

"Well, Anne, I think that your brother is ready to go to North Carolina with me. I took off a week from work, and we are planning on going tomorrow. I need to ask you to stay here with your mom and keep her company while John and I are gone. Can you do that for me?" I smiled at my dad. I could tell by the way that he looked at me that, when he got back, things would be different for all of us. I whispered in his ear.

"Yes.

"Thank you, honey. Did you know that you are my angel?" Then my father gave me one of the biggest hugs that he had ever given me. He asked me to go on and get ready for supper; I knew he was getting ready to cry. I leaned in towards him.

"Daddy, I love you. No matter what happens, where you go, or what you do, nothing could ever change that, so that is why it is okay for you to cry." My dad let a tear fall off of his cheek. I just sat there for some time, and neither of us had to say anything; just being there was enough.

They left the next day, and without them at home, my mom and I made sure we kept busy. She let me sleep I the bed with her, just like I used to when I was really little. We went school shopping because school was starting soon. My mom bought binders for my brother, too. Whenever she bought something for John, she would smile at me, and her eyes would fill up with tears.

The week that my brother and dad were gone passed pretty fast. They were going to be home in just a couple of hours. My mom had been cooking all day again and cleaning the house. That evening, we were finishing setting the table when they walked in. My brother was walking by himself. He had a box in his hand. He came up and handed it to me.

"Smoky Mountain Taffy Logs"

"I hope you like them. Dad and I watched them make it in the windows, and we just had to buy a box for you."

It was not what my brother said, but the way he said it. He had strength in his voice; he sounded like himself again. We all sat in our own chairs around the dinner table that night. My brother talked about the mountains and what all they had done. Normally, I would have cut in to talk, but not tonight; I just wanted to hear him speak. After dinner, we opened the box of candy, but I made sure to keep the box.

From that point on, every summer, my brother and father went to North Carolina and brought me back a box of Smoky Mountain Taffy Logs. I have kept every box; they are more than North Carolina souvenirs. They are symbols of everything that John went through that summer and everything that changed in my family as a result. They may have dust on them in my attic, but they are the memories that will never get dusty in my heart.

This electronic edition © 2000 The Wade Edwards Foundation