I was browsing my local library the other day and I came across this book in the children’s section. It’s titled A Miracle, but there’s no author to accredit the book to. There’s also no identifying information that tells who the publisher is.
I decided to check the book out and give it a read because what would it hurt? After looking at it closely, though, I’m not sure what to make of it.
I’ll transcribe it for you here.
———
His name was David Miracle, and really, he knew why.
When he was six-years-old, he was playing on the jungle gym with his friend Art and was determined to beat Art when they were climbing to the very top. It was in his bones to claim the title of Climbing Master, (a name he and Art came up with on the dot).
He did, in fact, make it to the very top with Art on his heels, but he grabbed the top rail a little too soon and his sweaty palms missed the steady hold, sending him flailing into a pile of mulch. What he and Art didn’t see before, though, was the sign in front of the jungle gym letting them know they weren’t supposed to play on it. The piece of playground equipment was condemned; pieces of the metal pipes had broken off from wear and tear. It was unfit and unsafe to play on, but David and Art were too busy playing chase to notice the sign.
When David fell into the mulch, he also impaled his left shoulder on one of the broken metal bars. He didn’t remember much about it, only that he passed out from the pain, and days later he awoke in a brightly lit, white room with his mom crying over top of him. She and the doctors explained that he’d had a close call—he’d lost a lot of blood—and it was touch and go for a while. The doctors were able to repair his damaged nerves and sew him back up. After a few weeks, he was as good as new, sans the loss of full mobility in his shoulder.
Everything was fine until a year later when he and Art were playing at recess one day, sitting under the large ash tree in the playground. They were talking about the different Hot Wheels they wanted for Christmas and were hoping to get them that year from Santa when Art pulled out a piece of candy from his pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” David asked him.
“Some dude gave it to me on Tarter Street when me and mom were trick-or-treating,” he replied.
Halloween had just passed them by. David went as Spiderman and Art went as Batman, but the boys hadn’t gotten to go trick-or-treating together that year. David’s mom was too worried about strangers nabbing David and too worried about him getting hurt; he was a clutz after all, so they stayed home and passed out candy. Art, on the other hand, brought home a treasure trove of candy, chocolates, and everything in between.
He was apprehensive about sharing with David, but did pass on a few pieces he didn’t seem to want. David was grateful, and it looked like he was sharing another piece as well.
“You can have it if you want,” Art said, handing the wrapped snack size candy bar to David. “I don’t like Snickers.”
David gladly accepted the candy, unwrapping it like a kid on Christmas morning. As soon as all the plastic was out of the way, he shoved the bite-sized chocolate into his mouth and chomped down, inviting a wave of sharp pain to radiate through his cheek and jaw. He immediately spit the Snickers out into his palm in a heap of melted chocolate mixed with thick, deep red blood. He kept his mouth open for fear of something lodged in his gum. He looked up at Art who had wide, scared eyes.
“Don’t move, David,” he told him. “I’ll get Mrs. Nell.”
The longer he held his mouth open, the more his jaw wanted to seize shut. He knew something was lodged into his gum, possibly a razor blade or something worse. Mrs. Nell arrived with Art in tow, and she looked at David with crazed eyes, pulled her phone out and called for help.
David wound up in the hospital again, this time with a razor blade lodged between his back molars. The doctors did their best to sew him up, but he would possibly need oral surgery in the future when his teeth and mouth matured.
David never ate anything else Art gave him after that.
Several years passed and David flew through school and life without another incident until he was 13-years-old. He and Art (still best friends) were playing hide-and-seek, but with a twist. The goal was for one to find the other while they called out using the Marco Polo technique. The catch was that the person who was seeking had to wear a blindfold. It was mostly Art’s idea, but David, being the happy-go-lucky kid he was, went along with it. He tied the red bandana around his eyes and Art ordered him to spring around three times while he hid.
David followed the orders, spinning around with his arms spread out in front of him. He was a little wobbly at first from spinning, but regained his balance shortly after.
“Go!” Art yelled and David started walking, moving his arms out in front of him, feeling in every direction.
They were outside in Art’s backyard, so David couldn’t grab onto a wall and use it to guide him along a path. Instead, he was grabbing freely at the air, trying to feel for anything in front of him.
“Marco!” David shouted.
From a distance he heard Art yell, “Polo!”
David was nowhere near close to him, so he continued moving forward, his arms out in front of him still. “Marco!” He yelled again.
“Polo!”
Art was closer; David could hear him. He smiled, slowly stepping forward. He could feel the newly cut grass and fall leaves crunch underneath his shoes as he walked, taking one step at a time. He was careful because he didn’t want to trip over something in the yard and fall flat on his face, possibly breaking his nose.
“Marco!” David yelled again.
“Polo!”
This time Art sounded further away so he tried a different direction. He turned to the right, still waving his arms out in front of him. He tried Marco once again, but there was no answer. Again, he yelled the name out for Art to hear, but Art never said anything back. Confused, David continued searching. The air around him was quiet and still; he could hear the birds chirping and tittering up in the trees.
He wanted to take the blindfold off, but he knew that if he did, Art would get mad, and he didn’t want to make his best friend mad. So, David continued searching, his hands and arms moving wildly.
He stepped forward more and more until his foot hit the pavement. He was about to yell Marco one last time but before he could even open his mouth, a car drove straight into him, sending David flying up into the air. He landed with a bone-crunching thud onto the asphalt, his head bouncing against the ground.
He heard the screech of tires and the idling of a motor before the car took off away from the scene. He lay still as a stone.
“David!” Art yelled, but David couldn’t see him. The blindfold managed to stay over his eyes even after he’d been hit. His world was completely dark. “David, buddy,” Art said, he could feel him crouch down next to him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
Art didn’t even take the blindfold off before he left David laying there. He could feel the blood trickling out of his ears and an itch on his cheek where he thought maybe a fly had landed. He couldn’t even move to shoo it away.
David Miracle was his name, and really, he didn’t know why.
———
When I finished reading the book, I couldn’t help but think about the little boy who was a victim of a hit and run in my neighborhood last week.
Come to think of it, his name was David.