Thy Kingdom Come
Thy Kingdom Come
David Overholt
The dream was always the same.
Twenty years to a lifetime ago, he sat in the
living room of a small townhouse apartment in a suburb
of a little known city somewhere in the Midwest. Just
a little suburban village community by the name of
Plainville, where a middle class family of three could
live in comfortable anonymity for their entire lives.
The nation was washing the last bitter remnants of a
lost war from their palate and although the dark clouds
of inflation loomed in the near future, life in the
Midwest still contained glimpses of the dream of
innocence.
The village of Plainville consisted merely of a
half dozen streets, two of which marked the north and
south borders of the small community, the others crossed
in such a manner as to make a tic-tac-toe board with a
small park in the center square. Opposite the park to the
west was a gift shop, to the east a quaint family
restaurant, to the north a handyman's store, and to the
south a small community grocers. The elementary school sat
just a half a block south of the park and with the
community being so small, many parents felt perfectly safe
letting their young ones walk to school even as early as
the first grade. After all, Shirley, the crossing guard,
was always watching the crosswalks in the square and everyone
knew and trusted her for the fifteen years she had been in the
neighborhood. Everyday at 3pm, the old school bell would ring
and the kids would scurry from the classrooms darting this way
and that (but always crossing the street at the corners as
mother had taught them) heading for the park to play, to the
grocers to buy nickel candy or even home to catch the
afternoon cartoons. The adults all kept their lawns neatly
mowed and kept a friendly, yet watchful eye on the comings
and goings in the community so as to deter an "undesirables".
In spite of its name, Plainville had achieved the greatest
levels of comfort and happiness for its inhabitants that could
be imagined at that time.
Twenty years ago.
A lifetime ago.
Timmy's family lived just a block north of the park on
the only street in the community that contained townhouse
apartments. When the apartments were first built five years ago
they had been scoffed at by the homeowners across the street,
but in a very short matter of time everyone came to accept them
because in spite of not having the space or the privacy one
could count on from a house, they still looked very homey from
the outside and the people who rented them were nice enough
folks to live by. Timmy's family had moved there when he was
three. Timmy's father had been taken on permanently by the larger
of the two local newspapers that serviced the city that
surrounded their community and had been able to afford slightly
better living accommodations for the family. Beyond the increased
living space, this served three purposes. The first was that the
townhouse gave off a more homey feeling than the one floor second
story apartment they had lived in previously. Timmy's mother had
dreamed of raising a family in a house since her early teens and
although they could not afford one yet, this was most certainly a
step in a better direction. The second reason was the local
school. Although Timmy was still three years away from attending
school when they moved, if they had stayed in the apartment Timmy
would have been bussed to a more urban, inner city school. While
his mother and father were not really very prejudice (in spite of
their own upbringings), they did not cherish the influences of
the inner city on their child and felt it best to avoid them as
best as possible. The third and quite possibly the silliest reason
was that of Timmy's grandparents.
Timmy's grandma and grandpa lived directly across the
street from the apartment his family had formerly lived in. They
both loved him dearly and would offer to watch him, even when his
parents weren't planning on going anywhere. They coddled and
spoiled him every chance they got, and even at the age of three
Timmy had already learned how to play this to his advantage. If
his family was visiting with his grandparents and he decided it
was not time to go when his parents said so, he would simply hop
up into his grandpa's lap and wrap grandpa's arms around him.
Needless to say he never left if he did not so desire. Although
this proved to be a minor annoyance at times to his parents it
was not a major concern until one day Timmy decided he wanted to
visit grandma and grandpa without bothering to notify his mother
and father. So at the very grownup age of three he proceeded to
walk across the major thoroughfare which separated his home and
his grandparents house. It only took about five minutes for all
the adults involved to figure out what had just occurred, but it
was several hours later before any of them had settled themselves
from the level of panic young Timmy had invoked in them from his
brief stroll. It was this incident that clinched his family's
decision to take the townhouse five miles away. Still quite close
enough for regular visits to see grandma and grandpa, but far
enough that they were never in Timmy's line of sight and not a
temptation to take another stroll.
And so a year after that leisurely stroll across the street,
Timmy sat in his family's living room coloring. It was
midsummer and actually one of the cooler nights of that
particular month. If there was one disadvantage to the
townhouse it was its lack of air-conditioning and any cool
summer night when they didn't have to turn all the fans in
the place up on full was considered a Godsend. Timmy sat in
the middle of the floor in his underwear with a little
plastic pipe that blew bubbles hanging out of his mouth.
He ran around the house in his underwear most of the time,
partially because of the heat, but mostly because he was
most comfortable in them. The pipe was the fifth of its
kind he had; the other four were either broken or assumed
eternally lost in the house somewhere. The bubble pipes had
begun as an attempt to get young Timmy to emulate one of his
cartoon heroes, Popeye. The idea was to get him to eat his
spinach like Popeye did so he could be big and strong. The
pipe was merely a prop in the charade that went on once a
week for several months. In the end, the plot was a total
failure as he hated spinach more than ever and his parents
were now supplying him with an endless number of bubble
pipes every time that he lost one.
Timmy sat Indian-style with his coloring book spread
out in front of him and any number of crayons from his most
current box of 64 scattered about. This book was the next in
a long line of Looney Tunes coloring books and tonights
subject was Porky Pig and Elmer Fudd planting carrots.
Timmy had only recently been introduced to fine art of
staying within the lines and now took great pains to try
to make each picture perfect. Where three months ago he
would have filled the refrigerator with new art in one
sitting, it now took him almost an entire evening to complete
one portrait. Carefully he selected each crayon to try to
best match the bright colors he had seen on the television
that same afternoon. This invariably ended up with a failure
of some kind since it was so hard to tell if Elmer's skin
was peach colored and Porky's was apricot or vice-versa
(especially at the age of four). However, it didn't keep
him from facing the challenge anew every night of the week.
The television was on in front of him, showing the
Monday night movie of the week, but he barely noticed. He
really had yet to figure out what his parents found so
entertaining about any show that did not involve cartoon
characters and/or music. But the background noise helped
to occupy his mind with his current project (or maybe to
block other noise out?). There was any number of things
in the room he could have gotten into mischief with if he
wanted, but none of them interested him. A few of his
father's Playboy magazines lay on the underside of the
coffee table but he had peeked in them before and not
seen anything interesting. What were a bunch of naked
women compared to Porky Pig at his age? He was very serious
about this particular picture he was coloring and wanted to
have something pretty to show his father when he got home
from work.
Timmy's father worked as a copy editor the last shift before
the next day's morning paper went to print. This was the one
major disadvantage to the increased income this position had
brought. Up until fairly recently, Timmy had never been
allowed to stay up until his father came home, but he had
changed this without realizing that he had. Up to a few
months earlier, Timmy had not spoken a word to this point
in his life. He had always been a fairly shy child, but all
of his cousins of his age were rambling away a mile a minute
while he sat in perfect silence. This had started a bit of
concern on the part of his parents. However, one night while
he and his mother were waving out the window to his father
going to work when all this changed. His father had just
gotten in the car and started to pull away when little Timmy
yelled "Daddy, come get baby!" This of course took his mother
completely by surprise and filled her with delight (in spite
of the fact that his first word had not been "mommy"). And so
she decided that night to let him stay up until his father got
home in case he had any further outbursts that evening. He
didn't, but everyday since then he had chattered along with
the best of them and had even learned to sing a few little
songs in that time. One of these that he had heard at Sunday
school ran through his mind and he began to hum it.
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to him belong.
They are weak, but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me so.
He hummed and colored, colored and hummed for several
minutes and at points broke into full-fledged singing. He set
his bubble pipe down on the rug and only barely noticed as a
small amount of bubble soap spilled onto the floor. He took up
the singing slightly louder as he finished coloring Porky Pig
and moved onto Elmer. If there had been a Popeye cartoon on the
television at that exact moment, he might very well have ranked
this as one of the happiest moments he his very short life.
Twenty years ago.
A life time ago.
His father would like this picture a lot. He had always
liked to make his father smile because it seemed so as though
he was the only person who could do it all the time. There was
no doubt in his mind that this picture would make him smile,
even after having been at work so long. And he was sure that
his mother would hang this up in the middle of the refrigerator
where everyone could see. He would make sure he showed it to her
first so she could give her approval before showing it to his
father. Maybe he should show her now before he was finished.
Then it occurred to him . . .
Where was his mother? He looked around the room but
didn't see her. He knew she had been in the room with him
earlier, but he must have gotten wrapped up in his coloring.
He knew she couldn't be far because she never left him alone
for very long. She must be in the kitchen, he thought to
himself. She must be cleaning or cooking something so he should
probably leave her alone for now. He would show her the picture
when he was done. Maybe he could ask his snoopy dog what it
thought of the picture. Snoopy was just up in his room and
with the exception of his parents, there was nothing he loved
or trusted more in the world than his Snoopy dog. He would just
have to go up and get Snoopy and ask him. Propping himself on
all fours, he pushed off with his hands to stand up and walk to
the stairs. He began singing softly to himself again.
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
The stairwell was fairly dark, but the light of the
living room shed enough light for him to guide himself to the
handrail. He grabbed hold tightly and began to slowly climb
every once in awhile climbing on all fours because it was more
fun (even if big boys didn't climb stairs that way).
Little ones to him belong.
They are weak but he is strong.
The hallway at the top of the stairs was even darker
than the stairwell. The only light was a small night light in
the bathroom at the end of the hall. Even so it really didn't
matter that much. He didn't have the fear of the dark that
most kids his age did and he already knew that the door to his
room was on the left and his parents was on the right. He may
not have exactly understood the words "left" and "right" but
he knew where everything was in this hallway.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
He approached the door to his bedroom. Had it been
closed before? He could never remember things the way he
wished. Oh well, there was a night light inside his room
as well, so he could see Snoopy laying on his bed when he
opened the door. He reached out for the door handle and gently
turned putting all his weight against the door as he pushed.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me . . . . ..
Tim sat shock upright in his bed screaming.
His bed was soaked with sweat and he could feel
the little rivulets sting his now wide open eyes.
It was just a dream. Only a dream.
He wiped the remaining sweat from his brow and leaned
over to look at the clock. It read 5:45am. He still had an hour
before the alarm went off, but there was no chance for sleep
now. Not after the dream. He should count himself lucky it was
only an hour before the alarm this time. He put his feet over
the edge of the bed and felt the cool comfort of the floor meet
his bare skin. He knew the air-conditioning was on full, but he
was still sweating like it was ninety degrees in his room. He
stood and made his way to the bathroom.
Relax, It was just a dream.
He turned on the cold tap in the faucet and splashed
his face several times to bring himself to full consciousness
as much as it was to cool himself off. He looked up in the
mirror into his own face and stared into the eyes of a twenty-
four year old man he barely knew.
Only a dream.
He slicked his hair back and wiped his face off with
the washcloth sitting next to the basin. He walked from the
bathroom and towards the window so he could get some fresh
air. Who gave a damn if the air-conditioning was still on in
here? He opened the curtains and caught the mornings first
blast of sunlight square in the face well before he was prepared
for it. He winced briefly and then opened the window and stuck
his head out. The air was warmer than his bedroom, but at least
he could breathe. He ran his fingers through his hair again and
stared at the street below.
Twenty years ago.
A lifetime ago.
Had it been that long? Twenty years now? He could hardly
believe it himself. The same nightmare several nights a week for
twenty years. The nights he didn't have the dream were mostly
because he had gotten so drunk the night before that he didn't
dream at all. Not a wonderful way to go through life, but the
hangovers tended to cause less of a distraction to him at work
than the nightmares did. Was it really twenty years now? He was
stilled stunned by the longevity of such a nightmare. Finally
realizing it wasn't getting any cooler outside, he pulled his
head back in and closed the window. He walked back to the
middle of the room and began the everyday routine of preparing
himself for whatever insanity his day might bring him. He laid
out his clothes for work and walked back towards the bathroom.
It was just a dream. Only a dream.
But the dream was always the same.
At least he handled it better now than he had as a
kid. When he was young he used to wake up crying at the top
of his lungs. When his parents came to see what was wrong,
they would find him cowered in a corner of his room in the
fetal position. His eyes wide with fear and still pouring
tears. From what he could remember, he was always shaking
uncontrollably. His mother would always pick him up and wrap
her arms around him and rock him gently like an infant until
he went back to sleep.
"Shhh, it's okay sweetheart. It was just a dream.
Everything's all right now". She would tell him.
But it was never all right. In twenty years it had
never been all right.
And it may never be again.
