only assume he wants you to go there.”
“Why?”
“Alli, I can’t help you with that. But if you want to
check the place out, I’ll go with you.”
“I. . . I don’t know. I just need a minute to think,
okay?”
“Anything you want.” And Liam left, calling over his
shoulder, “Just text when you need me!”
I looked the note over with the reverence of one
fingering a relic. This was the last thing my brother
had written before going overseas to war — and
it was written to me. I felt ungrateful for not
understanding it.
It looked like a military summons. I mean, he was
talking about gearing up and going somewhere with
a weapon at seven in the morning. What on earth
did he mean?
An hour’s worth of thought in the fading light
did nothing to solve my problem. What it did do,
however, was convince me that I had to go to this
8220 Warnock at 7 a.m. the next day.
I wandered up to my room. Immediately, I caught
sight of the little plaque Dan had above his bed.
Although I was too myopic to make out the actual
words on the paper, I knew well what they said, for
Dan would whisper them to me every night:
Mama,
I never said I was strong. Stand by my side; lead me
aright.
Dan loved the Virgin Mary, though I confess that this
was one point in which we differed. He was often
seen looking at her image or fingering his knotted
Rosary; he always referred to her as “Mama.” I,
however, just couldn’t find it in me to love that
woman — that picture upon the wall — as much as
Dan did.
Tonight, though, felt a little different. Dan wasn’t
there to recite that simple prayer for me. Somehow,
I felt weaker and lonelier for not hearing it. I
whispered the words to myself. “Mama, I never said
I was strong. Stand by my side; lead me aright.” The
tears which I had restrained since Dan’s departure
now poured out freely.
***
The next morning found me up at five, texting Liam.
He wouldn’t reply to me, so I called him. “What do
you want?” he asked sleepily.
“Liam, it’s me. We’re going to 8220 Warnock today.”
“Right now?”
“Not now. At seven.”
“Alli. . .” his voice trailed off. I prodded him to
continue, but he was still hesitant. Eventually,
however, he confessed, “I looked the place up. I
don’t want you going there.”
“Why not? Dan knew what was good for me.”
“I know, I know. . . it’s just that. . . well, I don’t know
if you’re. . . if you’re strong enough.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it. He never
gave me a challenge I wasn’t up to. Plus, I’ll be with
you. You can give me whatever strength I don’t
have. I trust you.”
“Thanks, Alli. I guess I’ll see you then,” he said,
resignation heavy in his voice. I could tell that he
didn’t honestly expect to change my mind.
I don’t know why, but I never thought to look the
There Will Be Hope | Zoe Krauskopf | Grade 11
I looked the place up. I don’t want you going there.
13
BAYLEY BULLETIN, MAR-MAY 2016
