Echo

three-bedroom ranch in Sussex County looked as lonely and forlorn as Scotty felt. The roof desperately needed repairs. When it rained, they ran around, laughing and bumping into one another with pots in their hands, collecting the drips. When they took showers, the water didn’t stay hot for long; last one in froze. They learned they must accept the landlord’s response to their complaints. He gave them two choices, suck it up or get out.
    They did their best to make it a home. Mrs. Preston made sure she kept it spotless and full of love. Scotty screamed with happiness, thrilled to find it included a tiny back yard with his very own tree. The air smelled clean and fragrant. But, best of all, it didn’t have his daddy. His nightmares stopped. Whenever his mother mentioned he could visit with his dad, his heart raced with panic. On those occasions, he usually pottied in his bed while he slept. The next day, when his mommy changed his bed, he would tell her all about his nightmare. Her face slipped into such a haggard and defeated bearing that he felt swamped with guilt, convinced his father’s pronouncements about him might come true.
    Sadly, the little boy found no playmates in his hilly little neighborhood. The homes were fully occupied by mostly black and Spanish families and a separate enclave of Muslims, of course. The children in the neighborhood took one look at his bald spots and disfiguring scars and refused to play with him, turning up their noses. They made fun of his wandering eye, calling him cootie head, dick wad, faggot and douche bag . The older boys would jeer at him, enjoying his hurt. The most aggressive pushed him to the ground, kicking dirt and gravel at him to cover his cootie bugs .
    Scotty wandered around and around the neighborhood, looking for someone to play with. His loneliness made him long to grow up quickly. Then he could do anything he wanted, not needing the attention or approval of kids that felt it necessary to call him ass wipe . His memories tasted nasty, festering like an infected wound.
    One day, he found the top of the hill behind his neighborhood. He discovered a curious path that tempted him into the woods. The dead leaves from tall thick grandfather oaks, dried and crinkled, disintegrating under foot as he explored. Over time, he learned to entertain himself in the woods, fighting imaginary wars with imaginary magical creatures. The woods became an enchanting place for him. He felt peace. He felt safe. He loved the small clearings drizzled with dappled sunlight, the occasional sighting of little creatures. He never felt lonely, seduced by the magic of timid rabbits, quarreling squirrels, hyperactive chipmunks and the silent family of deer; all his unwitting playmates, enchanting him with their innocence and acceptance.
    Today he turned seven. He looked forward to the scrumptious cake his mother always baked for his birthday. He knew Abby planned to have a special gift for him from the meager money she earned from the Muslim family she babysat for. He could hardly contain his excitement as the school day past so slowly. He thought he would age another year while he waited. The usual snubs from his classmates mattered not, his mind focused on the happy party waiting for him at home.
    Running up to his now familiar door after the school bus dropped him off, he jerked in surprise, seeing his father’s car in the drive, hearing shouts and angry voices. Letting himself in, he trembled at the sight of his father. His heart ratcheted up, thumping hard as his breathing came fast and shallow, his stomach starting a slow roil. He witnessed his father’s arms looped around his mother’s neck as he tried to force her to kiss him. She fought back, trying to slip out of his grip with little success, her balance a hindrance because of her brace. His father’s expression hardened, angry and ugly. A sneer deformed his thin lips as he slowly strangled her while Scotty beat on his father’s legs, vainly trying to protect his mother. She screamed, fighting him off until a desperate shove sent her falling back on the kitchen table where Scotty’s birthday cake sat, waiting to have the candles lit for his party. Seven beautiful blue candles on top of rich chocolate icing. His mom caught her balance on the kitchen table, sending his beautiful birthday cake flying. Everyone froze as the cake landed upside down, splattering on the hardwood floor. Staring at his ruined birthday cake, Scotty