Stepping Stones Read Online Free PDF

that now he looked different.  He was different from them, and they didn’t want him anymore.”
    “But why?”
    “Because they were afraid , I guess .  He was different from them, and they were afraid.  That’s just the way things are.  People around here are that way, too.”
    “I don’t like this story, Mama.”
    “You don’t have to like it, honey, as long as you learn something from it.  Besides, the story’s not done yet.”
    Ma was mostly speaking to Georgie, but every now and then she would gaze over at me.  I’ll never forget her eyes.  They were deep, deep blue shot through with tiny flecks of gold.  S ometimes, like then, I felt they could see right through me and straight into my heart.  Suddenly I realized her story was also meant for me.  She knew Georgie wasn’t the only one who was different.  Even back then, even before I learned what I could do, she knew.
    “So the young monkey was all alone,” Ma continued.  “He lived outside the group and was very , very unhappy.  Then one day the rains came.  It rained all day and all night.  It rained so hard that it washed every bit of green from the monkey’s fur.  The next morning he looked normal.  His fur was a nice brown color once more.  When he returned to his group they were happy to see him and let him come back.”
    Georgie sat quietly, thinking about Ma’s story.
    “Georgie?”
    “Yes, Mama?”
    “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Georgie, nobody else can make things move like you can,” she said.  “You’re the only one.  You’re the one who’s different.”
    All at once Georgie understood.  He started crying again.  “I don’t want to be the green monkey,” he sobbed.
    “Shhh, honey.  You don’t have to.  Nobody can tell just from looking at you, and we’re going to keep it a secret, okay?  You’ll never do it anymore, and we won’t let anyone know, all right?  Will you promise?”
    Georgie nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks.  “I promise, Mama.”
    Georgie never made anything move again, but sometimes when we were off by ourselves and nobody could see, we played other games.  Georgie learned he could wrap himself up in that power of his, wearing it like an invisible skin.  When he had it on, it made him as slippery as creek-bottom mud.  Nothing could touch him.  He could go swimming in his clothes without getting wet, pick up a hot coal and not get burned, things like that.
    We were careful , and we never again got caught.  But it was easier for me than Georgie.  The things I was learning to do didn’t show . . . not on the outside, anyway.
    Ma took sick three years later.  She died not long after that.  Toward the end I used to sit with her in the morning before my chores, and again in the evening before going to bed.  As I held her hand, I could feel the cancer spreading through her.  I tried to understand how it could be a part of her and yet still destroy her.  I wanted to understand, hoping I could stop it.  I tried.  I didn’t know how but I tried, and I kept trying until the pain grew too great and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
    Ma knew what I was doing.  I never told her, but like everything else, she knew.
    After Ma died Pa took to drinking.  Georgie and I handled the farm chores, and I watched out for Georgie.  Pa and I got further apart.  We lived together but we weren’t a family . . . not after Ma died.
     
    I was wrong about Pa.  He only lasted twenty minutes before climbing out of the trench and reaching for his jar.  By then he was dripping sweat and the skin on the back of his neck had turned an angry pink from the sun.
    Georgie and I had been taking turns shoveling while Pa swu ng the pick.  As soon as Pa quit, Georgie grabbed the pick.  I kept shoveling.  Pa reti red to the shade with his jar and quickly reduced its contents by half.
    While Pa rested, we kept at it.  Some fair-sized rocks slowed our