Obadiah

Five

Guinevere was excited.

Nervous and excited.

The school day flew by as a breeze and now she was sweeping the floor, waiting for Obadiah to arrive.

Everything was ready.

Paper, three pencils, an eraser, chalk, a blackboard, and a sheet with the alphabet.

She wasn't sure what Obadiah knew, and she wouldn't judge him if he only knew the first three alphabet.

There was something about the man that made her want to know him.

It was strange, but it could be that God wanted her to help him with more than just reading.

Whatever it was, she was open.

Mrs. Delores was that person for her. She did more than just watch the children. She encouraged Guinevere in the faith and showed her how to conduct herself as a woman.

Once her mother passed, seven-year-old Guinevere was raised by her father. He loved her and took good care of her, but he could never provide the feminine nurturing she needed.

Though it was believed she inherited her temper from her father, it was her mother who couldn't keep her head.

Mrs. Delores, whom Guinevere met after moving to Cedar Creek ten years ago, took to her as a grandmother and lovingly corrected her when needed.

Guinevere didn't look to be a correcting grandmother to Obadiah, but if he needed a friend, she hoped to be fit.

It was a far-fetched idea, but it could happen.

She had faith.

Looking at the clock, she hummed.

"Mr. Quentin will be here soon,"

Oh, how excited she was!

-

Obadiah shook his head.

He no longer wanted to learn how to read.

He was fine just as he was.

He didn't want to learn from the rowdy woman.

He didn't want to learn from any person.

But he gave her his word.

He didn't have much, but he had his word and honored it always.

Today, he found fault in honoring his word.

He was nervous.

Afraid she would mock him for being stupid.

She was excited, but it would fade once she understood how stupid he was.

He was stupid at eleven before he ran away, at that age he should've known how to read and write, but he couldn't.

But how could he have?

With what he endured daily and nightly, he could barely dress himself.

Reading and writing was not a necessity for him. Living was. Making it through the night was.

And now, thirty-five years later, his stupidity only deepened.

He looked at the clock and clenched his fists as fear coursed through him.

He was afraid.

He was afraid that his thoughts of himself would be true. He was afraid that he was too stupid to learn. He was afraid that God gave him a tiny mind and new things wouldn't fit.

But there was a part of him that pushed him to try. The part of him that caused him to agree with Miss Klein's offer.

He longed to prove the lies wrong. He longed to read, write, and spell like a whiz.