Marshall Ramsey

They measure four-inches tall.  They’re green and yellow with rough, leathery skin.  Their teeth look like sharpened cork.  In the middle of their faces are  big, bulbous noses. On each side are giant red, bloodshot eyes.  They can’t be seen by humans but can be by cats and dogs. And they possess the mother of all nasty attitudes.

They are Demon Elves.  The mystical creatures who live in your house who reek all kinds of havoc.

Missing your keys? They hid them behind the TV at 2 a.m.

Can’t find the remote for the TV?  They put it under the couch.

The dryer ate a sock? It’s in the local landfill.

Morning breath? They sprinkle bacteria in your open, snoring mouth.

No toilet paper at a crucial moment? That’s them.

Yup, Demon Elves are the absolutely nastiest creature on the planet. Nothing comes close. Even HoneyBadgers fear them.

Well, all Demon Elves but one. His name is Jasper. And this is his story.

Demon Elves live out of sight, in the spaces tucked out of the way, like behind the stove. Thinking about calling an exterminator? They huff bug poison like a drug.  They sleep all day and cause havoc all night.  Except Jasper. Jasper was the only good Demon Elf on the planet. And it drove all his fellow Demon Elves batty.

The head Demon Elf looked at the chaos Jasper had caused that night. He held his clipboard, cursing and went through the list:

1. Folded laundry.

2. Keys put up on the counter next to the wallet.

3. The pipe under the sink was fixed.

The head Demon Elf rubbed his temples.  “What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself, son.”

Jasper smiled, “I’ve decided to do good.”

The head Demon Elf’s head exploded on the spot. (A new one regrew right back in its place. ) “GOOD?!?  You have to be kidding me. Demon Elves eat good for breakfast!”

“And I vacuumed the house while the family was gone, too.” Jasper grinned.

The Demon Elf started beating his head against the cabinet.  Jasper got him a cold pack.

“WHAT’S the MATTER WITH YOU BOY?!?”

“Just trying to help.”

“ARRGGGHHHH” the head Demon Elf screamed. “GO WRITE ON THE WALLS OR SOMETHING!”

Jasper then said,  “I cleaned some Sharpie marker off the kids’ room walls, too. How ’bout a hug?”

The head Demon Elf threw himself on the ground sobbing.  “SON OF AN ELF!”

It was over. The head Demon Elf had completely snapped and lost his mind.

As the head Demon Elf was carted off  to a special padded room, Jasper smiled a cork-like smile.  He was now the nastiest head Demon Elf of all .  He just killed with kindness.

His cheeks were chubby and his eyes deep blue.  I’d see a mirror-image of him strapped in his car seat, talking, laughing or fussing as we headed south down the highway. He had mother’s morning out. I had work.  We carpooled.

The years went by and the schools changed.  The chubby cheeks disappeared but the blue-eyes remained.  We’d hit the morning carpool five days a week. It was our ten minutes: Ten minutes when I could ask him about his world. They were the most precious ten minutes of my day.

Eventually his brother joined in on the fun and I’d see two similar but different faces in my mirror.  Faces of individual boys with the eyes of their mother.  I’d listen in on their conversations as we made the short trek from home to school.  I watched their faces slim even more as they turned from little boys to pre-teens.

This morning, the mirror was empty.  My oldest is now in middle school and his brother is at a new school as well.  I have to be at work at 6 a.m. so I can no longer take either of them.  An era has ended.

I’ve dreaded this day for years.  Today it came. No conversations. No laughter. No fighting. Nothing.  Just me and an empty backseat.

My heart was as empty as my mirror.

The Great Smoky Mountains got their name from the smoke-like fog that hangs over the range after a rainfall. Today was no different. The peaks were completely shrouded by plumes of misty clouds.  In the valley below, a young man drove through the cemetery, looking for a particular grave in a sea of stones.  He put his van in park and kissed his wife.  This was a journey he had to take alone.  He rustled the hair of his sons and stepped out into the humid evening.  A violent thunderstorm had rolled through the valley a hour ago, leaving the air thick and the grass wet.  His foot sunk in the mud as he took his first steps towards the grave.  His destination was 30 yards give or take a few steps.

When he arrived at the headstone, he laid the flowers down at the foot of the grave. He then ran his fingers across the name.  The name of his grandfather.

He kneeled down and felt the water soak through his pant leg.  He closed his eyes and began to speak.

“I didn’t listen to you.  I was arrogant.  And I thought I knew more than you. I saw how the Great Depression changed you.  After you survived it, you forever lived beneath your means.  You believed in charity but you also believed in hard work.  You never complained.  You just did. And then you gave. I betrayed all that. I was slothful. I took. I was reckless with my money. I only thought of myself. Today and forever more, I pray your spirit will guide me. That I can live by your example. By your strong example of faith.  Your principles are as timeless as the mountains behind me.  Please. Please.”

He stood up and said one more time, “Please.”

Thunder rumbled gently from the direction of the mountains.  Fingers of light broke through the clouds and illuminated the graveyard. Light shined off the polished marble stones as the man with the wet knee walked slowly back to his family.  The Great Recession had changed another man for the better.  And somewhere his grandfather smiled.