This story was donated by Becca for demonstration purposes.

“How was your day?” Mom asks.

I jump in the car and slam the door. “Great! I was ‘it’ again at recess, and I caught everyone but Simon and Jana. Nobody’s ever done THAT before!”

I climb over Samuel, but he just stares straight ahead, like always. He doesn’t even move when I accidentally step on his foot.

“Good for you!” Mom says. “Did you do anything besides recess?”

I tug on the seat belt. It’s stuck. “Sure. We had hamburgers for lunch. Hunter did this big, HUGE burp, like this…”

“Caleb, please!” Mom says. I laugh. I look at Samuel, but he never laughs at me. He just stares. My laugh goes away and I look out the window.

“Hey, there’s Hunter! HUNTER!” I shout.

“Good grief…” Mom says. She rolls down the windows and I lean across Samuel to wave at Hunter. I wish Samuel would smile or yell at me for leaning on him, but he doesn’t. It makes me feel like I’m not even there.

Mom keeps asking me about school—math and reading and spelling. But all I remember is trying to sit still and not play with my pencil. It makes a great TAP sound when I play drums on the table. But Mrs. Plum doesn’t think so. Sometimes, when I’m tap-tap-tapping, it’ll get real quiet. And when I look up, she’s staring at me—not the way Samuel stares. She stares like she’s mad. But I can’t tell Mom that. So I just tell her I don’t remember.

“Can we go to McDonald’s?” I ask.

“Not today, Hon. Samuel’s got an appointment, so we’ll probably get something to eat at the hospital.”

I slump in my seat and make a face at Samuel, but his eyes are still looking straight ahead. Dad says I shouldn’t be mad at him, but isn’t it his fault I have to go to the boring hospital? There’s nothing to do there, and he won’t play with me, or anything. All he does is sit. I think of the story Mrs. Plum read about the bump on the log. That’s Samuel. Just a big Bump.

When we get there, I stand by the toy box, looking for something to do. But they only have baby toys: big squishy blocks and wooden puzzles. I barely touch one of the balls with my toe and it goes flying across the room. Mom looks at me. I slump over to the green and yellow chairs.

“There’s nothing to DO here,” I grumble.

“Why don’t you do your homework?” She says it like a question, but I know it’s really an ORDER.

I get out my paper and do a big sigh, like Dad does when Mom asks him if he remembered to stop and get the milk.

Homework today is Free Writing. I can write three sentences about anything I want. I sit on the scratchy carpet and try to think. But all I can think of is Why Do I Have To Go To The Stupid Hospital.

‘Course, I know why. I look at Samuel, sitting on the hard chair, still as a statue. It’s because of his disease with the weird name I can never remember. His disease makes him not be able to jump or laugh or play. All he can do is sit and stare. Mom has to help him with the other stuff, like eating and taking a bath. It’s kind of sad, all the things Samuel can’t do.

I look at my paper. It’s still blank. So, I start writing wishes.

I wish Samuel could run.

I wish Samuel would laugh at my jokes.

I think real hard. Mrs. Plum says not to start all our sentences the same way, so I make the next one different.

Playing ball with Samuel would be fun.

I sneak another peek at Samuel. I wonder how he can just sit there all day. ‘Cause I’d go crazy. I think about school and church and how hard it is to be still. I don’t think I could stand it if I had to do it all the time like Samuel. But he doesn’t look mad. Or sad. I look at him, and he’s leaning back in his seat like he’s resting—like he’s thinking something real important. Actually, when I look at Samuel, he looks just fine.

And then I have a thought, and I wonder if a light bulb’s shining over my head, like it does in the cartoons. Samuel is LUCKY, ‘cause he doesn’t mind the way he is. I never thought of Samuel being lucky before.

Then I think about me, and I’m lucky too. ‘Cause I don’t have to sit still, like Samuel.

I put down my pencil and wander over to the toy box. Nothing looks very fun. Not for one person, anyway. Then, I see some soldiers in the corner. I look back at my brother. I pick up the plastic men and carry them over to Samuel. I put the big, tough guy in his hand and wrap his fingers around it, like Mom does with his fork.

BOOM! I make sounds like bombs exploding. Samuel keeps staring, but he holds his soldier, and we play together.