A stab of sunlight came on through the window, attacking my heavy eyelids. The rooster crowed.

I sat up in bed, rubbing the remains of sleep from my eyes. Sighing, I recollected the dream from which I had awoke.

I had been walking through a lush field of green. There was no dirt anywhere, no dust threatening to engulf the farm.

“Ha, if only!” I thought spitefully. I hated the dust.

The sounds of Mama’s cooking leaked through the floorboards. She was probably making grits. Again. My stomach churned.

As I dressed myself in a plain T-shirt and overalls, I glanced out my window. Pop was already out in the corn field, the tractor spitting black smoke into the early-morning air. I couldn’t remember the last time the field yielded any corn. The fact was, nothing good had come from our farm for a long time.

“Sam!” called Mama from the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming!” I returned, snapping the last buckle of my overalls. I went barefoot.

Downstairs, my two sisters were already at the kitchen table. Mama straightened up from setting down my plate of grits.

“Morning, son,” she said softly. I noticed the sad look in her eyes that had become too familiar. She tried to smile, but it was lost on me. I couldn’t get past her eyes.

I sat down between Muriel and Evie. Muriel was the oldest out of us kids. Fourteen and slim, with blue eyes. Her hair was the color of coffee with a little cream added. She smiled at me. For some reason, nothing ever got Muriel down.

I, Sam, was the middle child. The only boy. I had dark hair and dark eyes. I was twelve-years old, but looking in a mirror, you’d have thought I was fifteen. A hard life makes a hard man, I guess.

Evie, the littlest, passed me the syrup. I patted her blonde curls.

The jar of syrup was near empty. Groaning a little, I resolved to eat the grits plain. Digging out a spoonful, I lifted it to my mouth.

Pop came in just then, tracking in dusty footprints on the tile floor. The screen-door banged behind him. He didn’t say anything, just sat down to eat. He glanced at me, but I turned away from that permanent scowl.

Spoons clinked on plates, a fly buzzed, and nobody spoke. I managed to stomach my breakfast, tasteless as it was. I was clearing my plate when Pop said, “Samuel, you take the potato field today.”

I didn’t look up, didn’t say anything. I stuck my plate in the sink and walked out the door. I went barefoot.

The screen-door banged behind me.


Right past the paint-stripped barn. Past the ram-shackle shed. Through the corral and up through the dry pasture. Into the potato field, an acre of hell on this already-forsaken farm.

The ground was littered with hundreds of rocks. Sharp, jagged things-- perfectly suitable for a little boy with no shoes. (We couldn’t afford them.)

First time I worked the potato field, my feet bled a whole lot. Dirt got inside the cuts. I could barely walk for a week.

Next time after that, it didn’t hurt so much-- until some of the scars reopened. Yeah, you get the idea.

Those days and months in the field paid off. I couldn’t feel a thing now. My feet, permanently swollen and calloused, just disregarded the rocks. My feet might as well have been dead.


The spade struck the earth with a “crunch!” The bone-dry clay cracked as I cleared it away. I bent to feel around in the hole, frowned, and moved to the next shriveled potato plant.

I wiped sweat from my eyes, glaring at the sun. It glared back. The time wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning (it was September), and I had already stripped off my shirt. Sweat ran down my face, arms, and chest.

Despairing, I looked back at the handful of blackened potatoes I had harvested. Everything else was dust. You know it’s time to give up when even potatoes-- the heartiest of all crops-- rot away.

I swiftly kicked a rock, angry at this thought, and then swore as sharp pain erupted in my big toe. Why was I here anyway? What hope (or food) was there to be found?

“This place is damned!” I yelled, shaking my fist at the sky. Maybe somebody up above would notice this miserable little boy.

I collapsed to the ground, having lost all will to work, to stand. I just sat there, staring into the rolling distance of prairie. My fingers absently ran through the dead earth.



Who knows how long I sat there?


My eye caught on a bright glint, coming from the ground a few yards in front of me. I paid it no mind at first. A cloud floated beyond the sun, and the glistening disappeared.

But there it was again! I frowned. What shiny thing could be in the potato field? Pop’s tools had all rusted over a long time ago. Only the dials on the radio glistened on this farm.

I moved towards the light.


I brushed aside the sun-baked earth and gasped. All my unhappy thoughts fell out the back of my mind.

Before me was the the most beautiful thing I had ever seen! It gleamed and winked from the ground. I was nearly blinded when I lifted the object and the sun’s rays hit it fully. The beams of light danced across the splendid treasure.

I was breathless, stunned-- awed by the object’s radiance. It’s beauty. I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, but the joy was inexpressible. I just stood there, staring at the treasure resting in my palms.

Every worry, every fear, every nightmare-- all melted away. It was as if the only thing I needed was to hold my dear discovery. Surely something so grand could take care of all my family’s trouble!

It was spotless, beautiful and delightful. Yes, that was the word! I felt delight! Such a feeling had before been a stranger to me. But not now.

I ran towards the house, still enraptured by the treasure.

“Mama, Mama! Muriel! Everyone, come quick!” I yelled this as I burst through the kitchen door. My mother came running, wiping her hands on her apron. My sisters followed.

“Look! See what I’ve found in the field?” I exclaimed. I reached out to show them the object. They crowded around my cupped hands.

Mama frowned, puzzled. She looked at me.

“Sam, it’s good to see you smiling. But son, this is just an old ring. Probably somebody’s old wedding ring.”

Slightly dismayed, and quite puzzled myself, I shook my head.

“Why, that’s silly! This doesn’t even look like a ring. No, this is more... more beautiful!”

She took the treasure, held it up to the light for a moment, then put it back in my hands.

“No, Sam. I’m pretty sure it’s just a ring. It’s nice and all, but nothing to get worked up about.”

Before I had time to respond, I heard another voice coming from the door.

“Let me see,” Pop said. He strode into the room and loomed over my hands.

“There ain’t nothing there.”

My body went cold. I slowly lifted my gaze from the object-- the thing that I could very much feel and see, in all its splendor-- to my father’s rough face.

“Y-you mean...you can’t see it?” I whispered.

“‘Course I don’t, ‘cause there’s nothing there!”

Behind me, Mama was bewildered.

“Don’t play games with him, John. Can’t you tell it’s a--”

“No! He’s the one playing games,” Pop interrupted. He scowled. “You’d better get back to them potatoes. Your imaginary ring won’t put food on the table.”

Before he had even finished, I was outside running. The screen-door banged behind.


I sobbed, sitting in the middle of the potato field. It’s funny how quickly a few words can shoot down joy that once flew high. Now it was on the ground, wounded, struggling to find its wings again.

They couldn’t see it, yet it was right before my eyes. I held it in my hands. It was real!

Words cannot do justice to what I felt when I found the treasure. And neither can they describe the sorrow I felt now.

I wanted to share my happiness with my unhappy parents. I wanted them to feel the enormous delight that I found in the treasure. But they didn’t see.

The late-morning sun caught the dazzling object. I smiled a little through my tears. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t lonely. But I was.

At this thought, I bent my head and wept again.


“Sam? Sam.”

I heard the soft voice, felt the tender touch on my arm. More tears fell.

“You can’t see either, right? Think I’m just a silly little boy playing games? It’s real, Muriel! It’s--”

“I know, Sam.”

I stopped suddenly and looked up. Muriel, her hair a mass of sun-lit gold, grinned. She pointed and we both looked to the treasure from the field. She whispered to me.

“I see it.”