Chapter Two

Aaron had been on his way to The Village when he encountered Cynthia and had his near- accident. The Village was a part of the city where both he and Cynthia lived and went to school. It really had been a separate village once before the city surrounded it. People liked it for its shops and restaurants and especially for its canal where the ducks waded. People of all ages loved the canal. Older men would bring their fishing gear and sit all day. While young people in love strolled along, bicyclists, joggers, and walkers in training would scurry along like they really had to get somewhere. Moms and Dads with young children would come with bread to feed the ducks. There were even specially made duck crossing traffic signs to warn motorists to make way for ducklings. The canal had been built in the days before railroads became popular. It was meant to connect up waterways for transporting goods on flatboats that were towed by mules and horses that walked along the tow paths next to the canal. Aaron imagined what it would be like to pull those flatboats. " What if instead of mules, a bunch of kids on rollerblades got on each side of the canal and towed the flatboats?" he asked himself. " That would be child labor of a fine kind!" Aaron wondered what the minimum wage should be for that.

Several streets crossed the canal. Some streets were very busy, but some were quieter and less traveled. It was one of the bridges over the canal on one of the quieter streets that gave a bunch of kids their nickname. Shopkeepers and homeowners called them the Bridge Kids. They didn't really want them around. They said they loitered and scared off customers. Aaron admitted to himself that the Bridge Kids might not look as harmless as he thought they were. Some smoked cigarettes. Every once in awhile a couple of them said they had some drugs to sell. He always said no or walked away from them. But for the most part Aaron believed the Bridge Kids were there for one reason--skateboarding. " They're not a gang. They're not drug addicts or criminals," Aaron insisted to anyone who put the Bridge Kids down. He didn't know what he'd do if the Village made a rule that there would be no more skateboarding on the bridges.

"I really, really hate rules," Aaron thought to himself as he flipped his skateboard up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to walk awhile, Aaron picked up his skateboard and tucked it under his arm. " Oh, this is the street where those new puppies live," he was reminded by an old fashioned lamppost that he marked his way by, " I hope they're outside playing." Aaron really liked animals--better than people, he told himself and anyone else who would listen. "People have too many rules that spoil everyone's fun." But, even if he didn't like them, Aaron did follow his Mom and Stepfather's rules most of the time. They didn't spank him anymore. They said he had grown too big. So they took things away like privileges: TV, telephone, choosing the carryout restaurant for Friday's dinner, or staying over at a friend's. He especially didn't like losing skateboard privileges or getting grounded when he came home too late or had a bad in- term report from school. Sometimes he couldn't understand what they were fussing about; he didn't see what was wrong with what he was doing. He certainly didn't feel all that bad about what he was doing. That really bothered his Mom who said " Doesn't it bother you that you've caused me to be late for work by your inconsiderate dawdling?" Or " I wish you showed more remorse for bending your Dad's five iron." That was the golf club he had borrowed from stepdad' s bag for the street hockey he and his friends played on rollerblades. They were pretty much able to fix the seven and eight irons, afterwards.

It wasn't all punishment though. Both his Mom and his stepdad praised him when he did something good, even if he didn't see how it was good. They gave him rewards too. In Conscience Club, Dr. Esse had said that sometimes a guy's conscience depends on parents' rewards and punishments to help him mark his way, to learn the rules. Conscience Club. He thought it should be called the Conscience Conspiracy, because he suspected the grown-ups were in league with one another to get kids to do what grown-ups thought was the right thing. And some of the stuff they did there was pretty silly, like having to draw a picture of their consciences. But there were some questions the kids were asked that made him think. Mr. Moore wrote them on the board:

What is the very first thing you can remember doing that was
called "good"? Go back as far as you can. Tell the whole story
of the event.

" That was when I learned to ride my bike.... My Dad said he would hold on to the seat...but he let go...and I rode myself," Aaron recalled.

" That had to be stepdad's five iron," Aaron muttered to himself. It happened a long time ago. And now everyone could laugh about it.

What these questions made Aaron think was "Hey, sometimes anyway, I follow the rules just because my parents want me to, not 'cause they punish me if I don't. I guess it's because I know they care and want what's best for me."

Aaron was almost at the house with the puppies. Their owner had put up an electronic fence so the puppies wouldn't leave the yard. The puppies, now about five months old, were still in training. Little flags marked the boundaries of the yard. If the puppies came too close to the flags they received a mild shock from their collar. Aaron knew most puppies learned to stay in their yards after one or two shocks. But there had been a problem with these two puppies. The problem really was a little kid, around 8, in the neighborhood who liked to coax the puppies to the boundary with cookies just to see them shock themselves. Aaron had caught the boy laughing at his cruel trick on the puppies and chased him away. Aaron had shouted after the boy "How would you like it?" He picked up a stone to throw, he was so angry at that kid. He didn't throw the stone though, maybe because he stopped and thought about it too long to get a good shot at him. Well there was no sign of that boy or the puppies this evening. "The puppies must be inside, " Aaron thought. He wondered if he should tell the owner what had been going on. He actually paused a moment. Just then he saw Rick come around the corner on his skateboard and wave. " Come on, Aaron, race you to the bridge." Aaron was off in a flash.

Cynthia had made sure the Fairchild children were bathed and in their pajamas before they could do any more playing. Now two-year-old Cathy was settling down with her dolls, her head in Cynthia's lap. Just a few minutes ago, Cathy had had a short tantrum in the bathtub. This had to do with Cynthia using less shampoo than is necessary to make the mounds of suds and bubbles that Cathy expects of shampoos. Cynthia got splashed and had a puddle of water to clean up. At first Cynthia was vexed. Then she reminded herself, "Cathy is in 'those terrible twos' when her favorite word is NO!" It had taken several babysitting sessions at the Fairchild's before Cathy was able to see her parents leave without crying and carrying on. Now she looked forward to Cynthia spending the evening with only a brief whimper when her parents said 'goodnight'. Cynthia was especially pleased to hear the Fairchild's go on and on about how much the kids liked her and how she could get them to do things their parents couldn't. Cynthia had said "Cathy if you finish up with your shampoo, we'll have time for playing with your dolls. Who did you say is your favorite doll?" Cathy stopped crying to consider Cynthia's question. After that the bath went smoothly, Cynthia saw to it that Cathy's hair was detangled, combed, blow dried and combed again. The proper pajamas were selected (but there were several different pajamas that were first tried and then discarded on the floor before the final selection was made). Cynthia coaxed Cathy to pick up and fold her clothes by suggesting they do it together. " That's very good, Cathy," Cynthia said. "Now bring your dollies and let's see what Michael is doing." After his bath Michael had proudly told Cynthia " I don't need any help getting dressed or brushing my hair." Michael was three and one half. When Cynthia and Cathy found Michael he was in his pajamas all right but they were inside out and backwards and sort of twisted at one sleeve so he couldn't get his arm through. Cathy laughed and said " Michael's silly." Michael was mad and blamed his sister, " You made me--" he said as he advanced towards his sister, hitting his fist in his hand. Cynthia said, "Now, Michael, Cathy didn't do anything. You just got tangled up, that's all. It happens to people all the time." That seemed to calm Michael down and they were all able to go to the living room to play. Cathy had her dolls. She was sleepily muttering to one: "Bad Dolly, you will get spanked," and to the other " Good Dolly, you didn't spill." Michael played with his Lego's and watched TV Cynthia took out a magic marker and a piece of paper. She began to draw. Michael noticed this and sidled over to her.

"What you doing, Cynthi?"

" I'm doing a drawing."

"What you drawing?" he asked.

"My conscience."

" 'Consin?" Michael was surprised. " My Grandma lives in Wish 'Consin."

"No, no, Michael, you're thinking of Wisconsin. I think your grandma lives in Wisconsin. It's a state. I'm drawing my conscience."

"What's that?" Michael asked.

"It's the part of me that helps me figure out what's good and bad."Cynthia said.

" Oh," said Michael, "I am a good boy."

" I know that, Michael," Cynthia replied while selecting another color.

" Some boys are naughty and that's a shame. I know three shames."

"Three shames?" Cynthia was interested in what Michael knew about shame.

"Yes. My Daddy told me." Michael continued, " Last Halloween, we made pumpkins into Jack O' Lanterns. Then we set them outside on the windowsill. Some very naughty boys came by very late--past their bedtime. They smashed our pumpkins. My Daddy and I didn't know until Mommy showed us the next morning. My Daddy said it was a shame."

"O.K. so that was the first shame?" Cynthia asked.

"Uh-huh," Michael said. " The second shame was when the cookie store at the mall closed up. Me and my Mommy liked those cookies."

"So what was the third shame?" Cynthia was looking at Michael with a big smile.

" I forgot the last shame."

" Have you ever been ashamed of yourself for something and your face got all hot and red and you couldn't look anybody in the eye?"

"No. Once my Mommy gave me sweat pants that were too loose on me. At preschool they fell down and everybody saw my underwear."

" That's embarrassing, I know," Cynthia was sympathetic. " Was that the third shame?"

" No. That was embarrassing. There's another shame." Michael said. " But it went out of my head." Michael came closer, snuggling a little. " That's a good drawing, Cynthi. I want to help draw. Please."

"Thanks, Michael, I have to do this by myself. Why don't you play with your Lego's for awhile?"

Whenever Cynthia tried to do homework or a project while she was babysitting, she felt funny. She thought she should be playing with the kids instead. It wasn't that Mrs. Fairchild insisted that she play with the kids. Mrs. Fairchild had said it was O.K. to bring homework over to do. Cynthia just didn't like the look of disappointment on Michael's face when she said she needed to study. Once he told her " You don't like me. You won't play with me." He even told his mother. Cynthia was about to defend herself by saying she had had to study for a science test. Mrs. Fairchild just said, " Don't worry, Cynthia, Michael's just trying to make you feel guilty. He pulls that on me all the time. He just refuses to understand the world doesn't revolve around him."

Tonight Cynthia decided to ignore Michael's plea for company while he played. Cathy was sound asleep now. Cynthia pulled up the quilt around Cathy's shoulders, thinking she'd make some changes in her conscience drawing before she carried Cathy upstairs to her bedroom. Cynthia lost track of time while she worked on the drawing. She looked up and had a moment's worry when she realized Michael was no longer in the room playing Lego's. She gently lifted Cathy's head from her lap and scooted out from under her. Then she started towards Michael's room. Only he wasn't there! Now, Cynthia's moment of worry had turned into something longer and stronger. Still she refused to become frantic or panicky. She went out into the hallway and headed towards the staircase. Just then Michael was coming up the stairs. He said, "Cynthi, come see my drawing." Cynthia sighed a sigh of relief. She said " Michael, where have you been? I've been looking for you." Michael took her hand and repeated, " I made a drawing for Mommy and Daddy. Come look." Cynthia was confused. Michael did not take her into his room as she had expected. Instead they went into Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild's room. She turned on the light. He led her to the closet, a big walk-in closet full of nooks and crannies, coats and dresses and lots of boxes. He pulled aside his mother's skirts with a grand gesture, just as if he were unveiling a great work of art. There in glorious, luminescent magic marker color was Michael's drawing---on the closet wall! It wasn't a small drawing either. And it wasn't in light colors. "I drew my 'consin," Michael said proudly.

Aaron and Rick were in a hurry now. They had stayed out way too late skateboarding with the Bridge Kids. It was getting dark. Some parents were going to be pretty angry--at least Aaron's were. Rick's parents are cool, Aaron thought. "They don't make a big deal about him being out late." He was a little envious.

At the last bridge they had to cross, Aaron and Rick stopped dead in their tracks. There was yellow tape stretched from one tree to the next along the canal. They made out the words Do Not Cross -Police Line repeated over and over on the tape. The road over the bridge was barricaded. The boys could see the reflection of two police cruiser's flashing lights reflected on the water. A siren from behind them was getting louder and louder. Aaron saw some men in a boat on the canal shining powerful flashlights on the water.

"What's going on?" Aaron called to one of the men.

" You kids get outta here. Right now. You hear me?" he replied.

"Cool," exclaimed Rick. " They're gonna drag the canal!"

" What?" Aaron asked as he tugged on Rick's t-shirt t get him moving. A police officer on the bank was looking their way and waving them on. She didn't look like she had much patience left.

"You kids head on home now--last warning." The police officer said.

Rick moved away reluctantly. He was excited. "They're looking for her body," he whispered as they passed by the officer.

" Your parents know you're out?" the officer came towards Aaron.

Just then she was distracted by one of the men calling to her from the boat. "Go on, get out here," she said over her shoulder and walked to the bridge railing to see what the man in the boat needed.

" Whose body?" Aaron asked Rick, but he knew before he finished the question. All of a sudden he had a queasy feeling in his stomach.

" The babysitter."

By the time Cynthia had scolded Michael for drawing on the wall of his parents' bedroom, comforted him when he started to cry, reassured him that it was a good drawing, (just in the wrong place) and tucked him into bed, she had very little time left to try to clean the scribbles off the wall. Still she tried. The scribbles wouldn't come off. Cynthia tried some more. They still wouldn't come off. Now it was Cynthia's turn to cry. She thought about calling her mother to find out what would take the markers off the wall, but she changed her mind. She really felt badly that she hadn't watched Michael more closely. She thought that she was irresponsible. And she didn't want her Mom to know. She worried that the Fairchild's would be upset and angry. Then she thought, "I could just pretend I don't know the drawing is there. After all, Michael could have done it any time." That way when the Fairchild's discovered the drawing, Cynthia would be gone. She wouldn't have to face them. Anyway why should she take the blame, it was Michael's fault after all. " Well, I'll try once more with this cleaner." It didn't work any better than before. Still she scrubbed and scrubbed. Then suddenly there was someone's hand on her shoulder. Cynthia almost jumped out of her skin! She turned around and started to say " It wasn't me- it was Michael-" Then she realized it was only Cathy who had awakened and come to find her.

" Cynthi 's crying," Cathy said sleepily. " Are you sad, Cynthi?"

Cynthia said, " No, Cathy, I'm not sad-- I don't know. I'm frustrated. I'm vexed." Vexed was her mother's all-purpose word when she was annoyed, frustrated or irritated with someone or something else.

"Oh," Cathy said. " Cynthi's vexed. O.K." Cathy yawned, " I want to be tucked in my own bed, now." They went hand in hand to Cathy's bedroom. Cynthia hurried through the tucking-in procedure and became a little more vexed when Cathy insisted on a glass of water and her favorite doll she'd left on the couch. Cathy told her doll,

" Michael's bad and Cynthi's vexed." Then Cathy fell asleep again. Cynthia's thoughts were racing," The Fairchild's will be home any minute now! What am I going to do about Michael's drawing? What should I tell them?"

She couldn't think about it any longer. So she turned on the TV A live news report was on. The reporter was standing near a parking area near the river. People used it to as a put-in point when they went canoeing on the river. The reporter said...

" Mike and Debby, it was only an hour ago that Ms. Haworth was finally found and released from the trunk of her car, where she had been bound and gagged after she was carjacked. Authorities had been combing the riverside and searching the canal for signs of her this evening when they came upon---"

She hadn't realized until just now how anxious and tense the carjacking had made her. Not because she knew the woman, because she didn't. And not just because she was afraid it could happen to her--which it could, she realized, but also because it happened at all and because it happened in her hometown. Cynthia whispered to herself, " Thank God."

" With a complete description of the suspect, police have intensified their search--" the reporter continued.

We invite readers to send their comments about The Conscience Celebration to the authors and editor via email Meg Gaffney, M.D.

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