By Donna Hruska

March 14, 1967

Writing class

The way it was with Steve that winter was something that no one understood, except me and possibly our mother, and I think she didn’t know exactly what to do except let time take care of it. Not that she didn’t understand him. She did, as far as anyone could. But the most important thing about understanding Steve was to realize that he was a sort of private person. He didn’t keep secrets exactly; it’s just that he never volunteered much.

He talked to me more than to anybody else. Of course, I was careful to keep what he told me to myself. After all, if a little kid like that trusts you, you can’t go around blabbing it all over. You see, we were always closer than most brothers that far apart in age. He wasn’t ever a pest, like a lot of kid brothers are.

He had a best friend, Tom Wilson, that he did things with. Mostly they played dinkies–you know, those little steel cars. Boy, Steve was sure crazy about those dinkies. He had practically every one ever made.

Like I said, Steve wasn’t ever a pest. He didn’t hang around much if I had some guys over and even if he had I probably wouldn’t have yelled at him or anything. One thing you learned early about Steve. He had sensitive feelings.

I remember once I found him in my room with my best model car. Before I thought what I was doing I yelled at him to put it down. He didn’t say anything–just got that hurt look on his face and went into his room. I could hear him crying in there and boy, did I feel awful. I mean, he hadn’t hurt the car. He was just looking at it. I opened his door and tried to apologize but he threw a pillow at me and told me to get out of there. He spent the whole rest of the day in there with his dinky collection, just playing cars on his bed. Everything was all right later, of course, but you don’t need more than a few times like that to make you watch what you say.

Anyway, we had a real snow spell that winter. We didn’t get so much at a time, but it kept piling up. Some days it would warm up and start to thaw but before it could melt the temperature would drop and everything would freeze again. With all that thawing and freezing the school yard was a real mess with about two or three inches of ice over it full of footprints and rough edges.

That day it had snowed again and the second graders hit the playground all excited. Steve and Tom were in the middle of a big snowball fight with some other kids when Steve noticed this little girl sort of hunched against the building with snow balls whizzing all around her.

“What’s the matter? You scared?” Steve asked her.

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him kind of wild-like.

“Hey you guys, stop a minute,” he yelled at the other kids and led her over to where the walk was supposed to be. She started toward the street but her boot caught on one of those rough patches and down she went, scattering her papers and mittens and stuff. She was crying by this time and Steve, being the kind of little kid he is, picked her up and told her not to cry–he’d walk with her.

So that’s how it started. Every day after that, she’d be waiting for him, huddled up against the building. He’d help her across the playground and walk home with her. I’d see them sometimes when I got off the junior high bus.

Mary Beth (that was her name) was a peculiar little kid. She had kind of a lost look about her, like she wasn’t sure where to go next and a kind of shuffling walk, like maybe her boots were too big or something. But it seemed that if Steve was there she wasn’t so timid. You could just tell by the way she looked up at him that she thought he was the finest thing that ever happened. If anything the least bit frightening happened, like maybe a gang of noisy kids went by, Steve would put his arm around her shoulders and kind of lean over and whisper to her. I mean, it sort of got to you the way he took care of her.

I never heard her say a word, but Steve said she talked to him. This girl I knew who lived close to her said Mary Beth wouldn’t even answer the teacher in school. I began to feel uneasy about it right then, but I didn’t say anything to Steve. Mom knew what was going on, though I don’t know how. She always had a pipeline to what was happening. She didn’t say anything to Steve, either.

You gotta understand about Steve. Like I said, he’s kind of a private person. I mean, I never would have thought to tease him about having a girlfriend or anything. It wasn’t like that with him. You see, he cared about things. It wasn’t even just people or stray animals, though he drug enough of those home. Like, he’d find a broken toy or something in a vacant lot and spend hours at the work bench downstairs fixing it. Or he’d find a piece of rusty wire and some tin and before long he’d have made a flashlight out of it. It just made him sad to see anything that was discarded or rejected.

So it went on like this for a month or two. He was still best friends with Tom, but when Mary Beth was around he just felt obligated to take care of her.

Then one day he got home from school earlier than usual. When I asked him how come he said Mary Beth hadn’t been at school that day. We didn’t think much of it. Kids miss school all the time. But when she didn’t show up all the rest of the week I could see it was bugging him.

“You suppose maybe she’s real sick?” he asked me.

“Could be,” I shrugged. “Maybe she’s got the measles or the mumps. That always takes a long time.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said and went back to his room and got out his dinies. He always liked to play with them when something was eating him.

In a little while, he was back at my doorway.

“I think I’ll walk over to Mary Beth’s. You want to walk along?”

I figured he must really be worried if he was asking me to go along so I said sure I’d like to go. When we got there I kind of hung back while he rang the door bell.

This tall thin woman came to the door. She didn’t look too old but she had lines in her forehead like she’d had plenty of trouble.

“I’m a friend of Mary Beth’s,” Steve said. “Is she sick or something?”

The woman didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said, “I’m Mary Beth’s mother. Are you Steven?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened the screen door and sat down on the step, pulling Steve down beside her.

“Mary Beth has gone away, Steven, to a school where she can learn better.”

“Why?” Steve asked. “What was the matter with this school?”

“Nothing. But she needs help. She’s so shy…she… the doctors thought she could get more help there.”

Steve just looked at her, trying to figure it out.

“But, I was helping her,” he protested.

“I know, child, I know. You did help her.” She put her arms around Steve and I could see tears in her eyes. “We all tried so hard, Steven. But we couldn’t do it by ourselves.”

Steve swallowed real hard.

“Do you…will she be back soon?” he asked.

“No, Steven. I think it will be a long time.”

Steve didn’t say anything all the way home. I kept trying to think of something to make him feel better, but I couldn’t come up with much. I asked him if he’d like to shoot baskets when we got back, but he didn’t answer.

When we got home he went up to his room. I stopped in the kitchen to tell Mom what had happened. She was drying her hands getting ready to go up to him when he came down the stairs carrying the box he kept his dinkies in, only he had it all tied up with string.

“Steven?” Mom said.

He didn’t answer. He just went out the door and started walking down the street. I looked at Mom and she nodded so I followed him.

He went straight back to Mary Beth’s house and rang the door bell. When her mother came to the door he just handed her the box and turned around and left without a word. I followed him home.

This time Mom followed him up to his room and I could hear her saying, “Oh, Stevie, Stevie.”

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Donna Hruska March 14, 1967

Comments: STEVE

This is a moving story about Steve and his older brother, and about Mary Beth.

All the characters are well characterized: Steve, who is described as a private person, Mary Beth who is timid and shy and afraid….. and the story teller.

First of all, I feel you should establish the ages of Steve as soon as possible. How old is the hero of this story? This is important.

How old is his older brother and what is his name? While he is the narrator, we feel he is rather nebulous, and there are parts in the story that should be properly backdropped: On page 2 — where you are telling that Steve and Tom were in the middle of a big snowball fight…..when Steve noticed this little girl. At this point….where was the story teller, the big brother…from what vantage point was he reporting the story?

There is empathy in this story…..the story of a little boy who protects a little girl….one is “different sort of boy” and “the girl is peculiar too.”

The last paragraph seems thrown in without smooth transition. Show how the older brother followed him home and this will open the door to the last paragraph.

Excellent writing. This is strictly a Mood story about two children. Unless the author intrudes, the older boy’s identity should be given a name and age….and scenes of his reporting should be established.

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