Since this is my very first blog post ever, I thought that I should start off by introducing myself.  My name is Christine Naman, the author of  The Believers or Rupert and Noah’s mother as my friends call me!  The Believers has a very special place in my heart.  I think that every writer has that one book that writes itself  because it comes directly from the heart.  For me, that book was The Believers.  The Believers is Rupert and Noah’s story- a story of a friendship built on love, love between the two characters themselves joined with their love of God. I invite you to take a peak at the first chapter and see of you might like to enter in to Rupert and Noah’s world and join them in the adventure of their Summer. I hope that you will.  Let me know what you think.  

                                                                               Blessings,   Christine

How It All Started

                        It was two weeks into summer vacation, a Sunday night. I was ten years old and I can remember exactly where I was standing in the kitchen of our home, next to the garbage can throwing away a banana peel from a banana that I didn’t deserve to be eating because my mother said I hadn’t eaten enough of the dinner that she had made. But she gave it to me anyway. Looking back, I figure the reason that I can remember exactly where I was is because my heart had stopped beating, and I’m pretty sure I had stopped breathing as well. So I guess it would be natural to remember details of such an event. 

                        “I have good news!” my mother announced cheerily to me. My father, brother, and sisters were in the kitchen, too, but she was talking only to me. “I called Edwin Jolson’s mother today!” she said. Edwin was an older smart-alecky boy who lived down the street with whom I got along  by staying away from.

     Now, in addition to not breathing and my heart having stopped, I was  beginning to sweat.

     “And I told her how I had noticed that Edwin walks by our house every morning on his way to the pool.”

     Now I was getting light headed.

     “And I asked her if she thought Edwin would mind if you went along, too, and she said she was sure that he wouldn’t mind at all. She said she was sure that he would love having you go along with him and his friends. He’s such a nice boy! They go to our church, you know. Well of course, you know that.”

      Her words were coming out in a rush and I could tell she was nervous and that she had actually planned this speech, but was trying to act casual as if we were just talking. The fact that I was paralyzed, motionless and mute, and just staring at her through glassy marble eyes could not be helping to calm her nerves. But this was a nightmare of mine coming true right in the middle of my own kitchen.

      “He seems like such a nice boy” she said again. And inside I was screaming “He is not. He is not a nice boy! He’s a gigantic smart alec who knows how to act like a nice boy in front of grown ups!” But none of that came out.

      “Won’t going to the pool every day with a group of boys be such a nice way to spend the summer?” she asked too loudly to sound natural. “The summer of fifth grade was when I met my best friend Marisol,” she continued. I had heard that story a million times. My mother was dying for me to have a best friend. Not having a best friend was not a problem for me, especially now that it was summer, because I got to be upstairs in my bedroom with my music without the interference of school.  But from where my mother was standing which was obviously at the front window looking out at Edwin and his friends passing by our house heading happily to the pool to be best friends, this looked like a problem. I was smart enough to know that in my mom’s eyes, Edwin Jolson did not look like an odd duck while I, her son, did. There were five kids in our family and I guess you could say I was the odd one compared to the rest of my siblings. But I was a happy odd duck. I was a content and peaceful odd duck. But compared to the rest of my siblings, I guess I stood out. My older sister was just a regular girl with normal activities and normal friends. My older brother was pretty much the same thing, a regular guy, a little athletic with normal friends. And my little twin sisters were just two goofy little girly girls with gaggles of other goofy little girlfriends. So I was the different one. I had a few friends but not close ones that I would take home from school or to whose houses I would be invited.  So I guess from where my mom stood, she saw four of her five children making friends, being popular, going over to other kid’s houses after school, in essence: being “normal”.

      On the other hand, she saw me being a hermit up in my room alone doing Lord knows what.  I got along fine at school with the other kids but was relieved as could be to retreat to the safe haven of my room after school and do what I loved to do. And what I loved to do was to lay on my bed and listen to my music, write lyrics in a tablet that I kept hidden under my mattress, and dream about the day that I would stand on a stage and sing to an audience.  And it was there that I was happiest.

     Probably just by the nature of her gender, my mother worried more about me than my father did.  Mothers are fixers and want to make something right they see as wrong.  Fathers seem to be more helpless observers. My father saw that I was different but I think I confused him more than anything.  Every once in awhile, I would catch just the briefest snippet of a hushed conversation between my parents with my mother saying something about them taking me somewhere or signing me up for some group or club where I might fit in.   My father’s response was usually something like, “Let him be. He’ll find his own way. We all have to.”

     If I didn’t know how much my mother loved me, all of this might have hurt my feelings more than the little bit that it did. But I didn’t let it bother me too much because I was sure of her love and I knew deep down that she was just trying to fix something that she thought looked like it needed fixing.

      I stood frozen in the kitchen feeling that preteen combination of embarrassment and anger.   “I don’t want to go to the pool with Edwin,” I said, not quite through gritted teeth but close.” My father raised his eyes just slightly above the newspaper that he was reading at the kitchen table as a warning to me to watch my tone.

      “Why not?” my mother exclaimed. “It would be such a nice, healthy way to spend the summer.”

     I wanted to shout at her, “You mean it would be a “normal” way to spend the summer. Because you think me being alone in my room with my music is weird!” But of course I didn’t say this not only because I knew it would hurt her feelings, but also because my dad was still glaring over his paper at me.  She just had no idea how much stress this was causing me. The thought of going to the pool with this kid was actually starting to make my stomach hurt.

      “Because I don’t want to go to the pool with Edwin,” I answered. My dad, realizing that this was not going to end quickly and that it might be getting louder, motioned to my sister and brother to leave the room and to take my little sisters with them. I wondered if, when I was a dad, if I would be able to clear a room with just a look, and to say all of that with just a nod. I had no idea whose side he was on but at least he realized that we didn’t need an audience.

      “Why not?”  my mother pressed.  “He’s such a nice boy.”

      I wanted to start yelling again, “No, he is not such a nice boy,” but I knew that going there wasn’t going to help. Edwin was the kid  that was most opposite of me.  We had nothing in common. But how could I ever explain to her that the very last way I wanted to spend my summer was hanging out at the pool with Edwin and that I could completely promise her that the last thing Edwin wanted in this whole world was to be saddled with me.

      I tried a different approach. “He is a nice kid,” I agreed.

      “I just don’t want to go to the pool with him. I don’t want to go to the pool with anyone. I don’t really like the pool.” But she, who could usually read me better than anyone in the entire world was blinded with trying to fix a part of my life that she was sure, was broken.  She had no idea that she was torturing me. “Look, she said excitedly, disappearing from the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding a cotton drawstring sack with a fish on it. She quickly undid the string and dumped the contents onto the kitchen table. A blue bathing suit with whales on it, a bottle of sunscreen, a pair of swim goggles, and a beach towel with a gigantic starfish spilled out. “I got all of this,” she announced, turning the bag slightly inside of itself to reveal a zipper pocket. She unzipped it and pulled out some bills.

      “There’s three dollars for a snack,” she said happily as if this would surely seal the deal.

      She was killing me. I loved her so much and knew what she was trying to do and I didn’t want to break her heart but honestly I knew that more than anything I did not want to go to the pool with Edwin Jolson.

     “Mom Please,” I said whining now. “I just don’t want to go to the pool.”

      “Couldn’t you just try it?’’ She was practically begging. “Mom, no!” I shot back.

      “How about you try it for just one day?”  she offered. “Mom-” I began again, but was cut off.

      “Noah,” It was my dad’s voice. “Try it for tomorrow.”

       This was said in the quiet even tone that my father always used when it was not a suggestion but a command. I looked at him through eyes that were blurry with anger and frustration. I felt that he was selling me out. I pleaded with him through my eyes to see my side. But he didn’t. I glared. Usually he didn’t tolerate “looks” from his children, but he let this one go. I knew better than to push him any further so I looked away first. I had lost and I knew it. I looked at my mother upset and disappointed. She knew my father’s word was law and that tomorrow I would be going to the pool with Edwin Jolson. I stormed out of the kitchen. Later that night my mother crept into my darkened room. I was in bed but not asleep yet. I hadn’t gone downstairs to say goodnight as I usually did. I didn’t move when she came in. She set the repacked pool bag on the floor by the door and crept over to the bed. She leaned over, pushed my hair back, and kissed me on the forehead.

     “I just thought it would be nice to spend the summer having a best friend,” she murmured softly.  Then she walked out of the room and closed the door with one soft click.

http://www.kirkhouse.com/Books/The-Believers

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