Marooned

“Be still, or no story,” I told the boys. Their freshly scrubbed faces looked up at me in anticipation as they settled down under their covers. I’ve loved stories since my father told bedtime stories to my brother and me when we were preschoolers and I thought back to one of my favorites.

As Dad told his story, I sat up in my bed under my Davy Crockett bedspread, totally immersed. Separated from our friend and mentor, Buck Rogers, we desperately fled the forces of evil. Misfortune dogged our heels, though, as the bad guys knocked out our defensive systems. Our bad luck continued when a meteor tore through our ship while we maneuvered to escape. Our air disappeared through the gaping hole and we scrambled into our spacesuits, barely getting them on in time. The meteor also knocked us off our course and we careened through space, out of control. Although we had evaded our pursuers, we were not in good shape. We worked feverishly to restore control as a small, deserted planet loomed larger and larger in front of us.

Our ship bounced from crater to crater, throwing us around inside before it finally stopped. Miraculously, we had escaped injury and we went outside to inspect the wreck of our ship.

It looked grim. Our defenses were gone, our engines were destroyed and the crash had taken out our communications. Everything could be repaired, but we had no parts, only basic tools and the bad guys were still looking for us. We were marooned.

We looked up and saw another space ship coming in and my heart sank. We couldn’t repel the bad guys and we couldn’t run. How would we get out of this dilemma? I couldn’t think of a thing and despair filled me as the spaceship loomed larger and larger. Helplessly, I stood there and waited for my fate.

The spaceship landed gently and shut down its engines. A hatch opened on the side and a solitary figure stepped out. The figure turned in our direction and we recognized our friend and mentor, Buck Rogers. We were saved! I gave a small giggle and shivered in excitement and relief.

While Dad wove his yarn, I sat safely in my bed, my eyes wide open. With my imagination in overdrive, though, I was light years away, stranded on a desert planet with my father and brother. I was so involved that I could actually see our surroundings.

I will always remember the effect that story had on me and I try to involve my children in the story in that same way. I looked down at their expectant faces and spoke.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy named James, just like you James. And he had a little brother named Ian, just like you Ian,” I began.

Bill Bartlett lives in Belton with his wife, Sandi, and his sons.