Chapter 10

10

Abraham Lincoln Panim was home schooled, and he learned about the world from Mrs. Stottle. He learned the three R’s from her, and once he was able to read and write and do basic math, he progressed to social studies, English, foreign language, and he progressed very quickly.

And as he progressed with his learning, Mrs. Panim also progressed in her school, rising from a member of the teaching staff to a lead teacher, then to a guidance counselor, and finally, to the principal’s position.

Both Mrs. Panim and her son were fast learners, picking up things quickly, and Mrs. Stottle was more than happy to accommodate each one’s needs, even as she was herself getting a bit older.

Abraham Lincoln Panim was getting older, but he retained his rat-like features. Mrs. Stottle tried to get him to be more social, but even if they went outside to do some schoolwork, he often covered himself up with a scarf so nobody would see his face.

The boy always waited patiently for his mother to come home from school, and the two always ventured outside in the darkness, whether to get some fresh air or to get some exercise or just to talk.

If someone approached, Abraham Lincoln Panim would cover himself up with his scarf, just to make sure nobody stared at him. Even in the dark, his features, he felt, could still be seen.

The mother and son often talked when they were together in the evening when they went out for a stroll.

“Mom, whatever happened to daddy?” Abraham Lincoln Panim would often ask his mother.

She would always hesitate when he asked the question, trying to come up with a new answer every time the question was asked. But it all came down to the very same thing.

“My son, your father was a good man,” she would say. “I just think that he lost his way, and he will return home to us one day.”

And she would always add, “And he would be so proud of you!”

When Abraham Lincoln Panim was younger, that response sufficed, but as he got older, it didn’t do the trick anymore, but he let his mother say the same thing, because he felt it soothed her own soul.

Abraham Lincoln Panim believed that he knew why his father never came back home, and he knew the reason was him and the way he looked.

But he would never tell his mother that, because he felt it would make her sad. But he always asked the question, hoping that one day, maybe something would be said, something would come out of his mother’s mouth that would be new, something that he could understand.

Mrs. Panim stayed steadfast to her explanation, and something different never was spoken about her husband and Abraham Lincoln Panim’s dad.

But he still asked the question, hoping for a different answer that he never received.

Chapter 9

9

When Mrs. Panim, her son, and Mrs. Stottle arrived home that day, and after the boy was cleaned up, Mrs. Panim sat on the sofa in her living room, her head in her hands, crying.

“What am I going to do, what am I going to do?” she repeated over and over and over again. Mrs. Stottle came by her, sat down on the sofa next to her, and tried to comfort her.

“He will be fine. He will be just fine,” Mrs. Stottle said, putting her hand on Mrs. Panim’s back. “He is a fine young boy, and don’t take what happened today as an omen for things to come. Abraham Lincoln Panim will do well in life.”

“But what am I going to do about nursery school, and even when he goes into kindergarten, and first grade, and second grade … ? Mrs. Panim asked, still sobbing between each word of her question to Mrs. Stottle.

“I have an idea,” replied Mrs. Stottle, as Mrs. Panim continued to cry. “I have a wonderful idea.”

Mrs. Panim looked up briefly as the tears continued to fall out of her eyes. “What idea is that,” she asked Mrs. Stottle.

Mrs. Stottle stood up and walked to the side of Mrs. Panim. “A number of years ago—“

“What’s the idea?” Mrs. Panim interrupted.

“Just hear me out,” replied Mrs., Stottle. “Please hear me out.”

She gave Mrs. Panim a wad of tissues to dry her eyes, and then the older woman told the younger woman about her idea.

“A number of years ago, long before you were born, I went to school, and probably thought that I would meet the man of my dreams and get married and live in a home surrounded by a white picked fence and have scads and scads of kids myself,” Mr. Stottle said.

“What does this have to do with--?” Mrs. Panim asked.

Mrs., Stottle sat down on the couch next to Mrs. Panim and put an arm around her.

“Let me continue,” Mrs., Stottle said. “Well, my knight in shining armor did not come to take me away, and once I got through high school, I decided to go to college, which, back then, wasn’t something a lot of young ladies did.

“I went to college, got my degree, and since my knight in shining armor never came to rescue me, when I had my college degree, I reached a point where I had to decide what I was going to do with my life.

“I decided to go into teaching, and I ended up teaching for a number of years.”

When Mrs. Panim heard this, her tears stopped coming out of her eyes, and she looked at Mrs. Stottle.

“Please let me continue,” Mrs. Stottle said. “Anyway, I taught for a number of years at a local school. I taught young kids, kindergarten, first, second grade, children of that age.

“And even when I was teaching, I always thought that my knight in shining armor was going to come, and one day, he did! He was another teacher, by the name of Herman Stottle, and he came from another school to teach at my school. He was so handsome, so tall and good looking, and really smart. He was in the room next to mine, and the moment I saw him, I knew that my knight in shining armor had finally come.”

Mrs. Panim, now completely composed, said, “Well, that is all fine and good, but what does all of this have to do with my son? You probably taught many, many years ago.”

“Yes, I did. But back to my story … Herman and I were married after about a year, and we had a wonderful marriage. He continued to teach, and so did I.

“Then, after a number of years of teaching, I found that my eyesight was failing, and my feet were killing me. I could still see, and I could still walk, but not very well. Herman and I went to a number of specialists, but they could do nothing for me.

“Finally, after about 25 years of teaching, I could no longer do my job because I simply could not see well, nor could I stay on my feet for any long period of time. I had to retire. But I asked my principal if I could mentor, or tutor, special children, kids who he thought had the potential to be really successful but didn’t have the confidence to get to that point, or maybe were a little different than what you would call the ‘normal’ child.”

Mrs. Panim’s still red eyes lit up, as if a light bulb went off in her head as Mrs. Stottle went on with her story.

“So even though I couldn’t see well, nor walk well, for a few years, I tutored one child each year. Mr. Stottle continued to teach. We could not have children of our own, so his class were his children and my special student was my child. I know that might seem odd, but that is how we looked at it.

“One year, I tutored a beautiful little girl, who was a foster child and who I knew would succeed with whatever she did. She had little confidence. Children had made fun of her, she was very self conscious of the way she looked, but during that year with me, she came out of her shell, and her body changed, and she looked like every other young lady you would see in school.”

Mrs. Panim wanted to speak, but Mrs. Stottle put a finger up to the younger woman’s mouth.

“I was Miss Meyer back then, and that little girl was born with a tail. When it fell off that year, it was like that little girl was a different child.

“And that child, that little girl who went from a moth to a butterfly over the course of that year, was YOU!”

All of a sudden, the past came into focus for Mrs. Panim. Mrs. Stottle and Miss Meyer were one and the same person. She was the woman who helped her during that one very important year when she was growing up, when she still had a tail that protruded out of her that she was so self conscious of that she always tried to cover it up as best she could.

She never went swimming, never exposed it to anyone, but her classmates knew, and she was the victim of taunting and numerous jokes from both boys and girls.

But then, with Miss Meyer tutoring her, she finally found a friend, someone who believed in her, and the tail literally fell off.

And Mrs. Panim suddenly remembered Mrs. Stottle’s large feet, which she always complained about, and how large and sore they seemed to be.

After that year, she never saw Miss Meyer again. She often wondered what had happened to her, but it all came to her very quickly …

“Do unto others as you would have the do unto you … treat other people the way you would like to be treated yourself.”

“Oh, Miss Meyer … Mrs. Stottle … I so often wondered about you and what had happened to you,” Mrs., Panim said as she hugged the older woman.

“Please let me finish my story,” Mrs. Stottle said. “I tutored kids like you, kids a little bit out of the ordinary, for a number of years, until my eyesight wouldn’t allow for it anymore. Mr. Stottle eventually retired, and I am sorry to say he passed away a little while ago.

“But even if I wasn’t teaching, I always renewed my teaching license, and I still have it. If you allow me to, I will be Abraham Lincoln Panim’s teacher. He can be home taught, and never have to deal with those people again.”

Mrs. Panim screamed “Yes!” and that was signaled the beginning of a new chapter in Abraham Lincoln Panim’s life that was ready to unfold.

Picture This

Eight chapters in ... I hope that you hearty souls who have taken a chance and have read each of the chapters I have posted every day are enjoying what you are reading.

Now I have a favor to ask of you, something that I have been thinking about for a while and something that could be a lot of fun to do.

"Rat Face" is very visual, because quite frankly, I am a visual type of person. Pictures are paramount to me, and what I see in my mind, I am able to transfer to paper--or electronically--and that is the way that my mind works.

Since the novel is so visual, I think that I need some drawings to go with it--some visuals to go with the words.

Are there any artists out there? Would any of you like to try your hand at drawing some pictures to ramp up the story that I am trying to tell?

The novel runs for 40 chapters, so we are only 20 percent into it right now.

As I figure it, the novel needs about 12 drawings or so.

They can be in black and white or color, whatever suits your style.

Once completed, I can't really offer you anything but this: if the novel gets picked up by anyone, and I choose your drawings, those drawings will be used by me in the production of the story--if I have my way.

Publishing companies are funny, and they might decide that they like the story, but they don't like the pictures. They might also decide that they like the pictures, but don't like the story.

So if your pictures are used, I cannot pay you anything, but you will certainly get a credit right under mine as an author.

This might be a wonderful way to get your foot in the door as an illustrator, so people, if you have kids at home who are artistic this could be a good way to help them out as I go through my journey of trying to get this thing published.

Again, there are no guarantees, no payment in any way, and it is my choice as to whether the art is used or not used, at least at this starting point that I am at in trying to get this novel published.

Think about it, and please contact me at Feacebook message if you have any ideas.

Thanks ... and read on!

Abraham Lincoln Panim would be proud, but please, stay away from the cheese!

Chapter 8

8

When Abraham Lincoln Panim was enrolled in nursery school, he had a very tough time being with the other children, who often taunted him about the way he looked.

One little boy called him “Eddie Munster,” and the name stuck with the young boy, so much so that most of the children in school knew him by the name “Eddie Munster” more than they knew him as “Abraham Lincoln Panim.”

One day, when he was in nursery school, and with his mom back at work, Mrs. Panim received a phone call from Mrs. Stottle. She excused herself from her class for a moment to take the call.

“Mrs. Panim, I have to get your son from nursery school,” Mrs. Stottle told Mrs. Panim. “Something … happened there … I don’t know much about it, other than he is OK … .”

Mrs. Panim face showed concern, “What happened?” she asked Mrs. Stottle. “What happened?”

“Let me go get him and I will let you know,” said Mrs. Stottle, who said goodbye before Mrs. Panim could say another word.

Mrs. Panim called the school office, they sent another teacher up to watch her class, and she herself made a bee line to her son’s nursery school.

When she got there, and ran into the school, she saw Mrs. Stottle already there, on her hands and knees, with her big feet sticking out as they always did, and as she got closer, she saw that the older woman was attending to her son. The nursery school teacher was also there, trying to calm down the howling little boy.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Panim,” said the nursery school teacher, who appeared to be holding back a snicker as she spoke. “Your son got … well … he was …  .“

“This is an abomination,” Mrs., Stottle yelled, as Mrs. Panim now fully saw her son, fully covered in yellow goo.

“ … one of the other students brought in a jar of Cheez Whiz, and squirted the stuff all over your son,” said the teacher, again holding back a snicker as the other students were laughing on the other side of the room.

“ … we all know he hates cheese, and the kids think he … well … he looks a lot like ‘Eddie Munster’ … so they squirted him with the cheese,” said the teacher, who left Abraham Lincoln Panim with his mother and Mrs. Stottle as she walked over to the other side of the room with the other children.

“ABRAHAM LINCOLN PANIM IS A RAT! ABRAHAM LINCOLN PANIM IS A RAT!” the children yelled over and over again in unison, delighting at the sight of the Cheez Whiz-covered boy.

One little boy, named Brandon Hartung, held the nearly empty bottle of Cheez Whiz over his head in joy as the taunts got louder and louder. He held it over his head with his left hand, as his right hand was covered with a glove.

When the teacher went over to the other students, she tried to calm them down. “Now class, that is not fair,” she said. “What you did was … what you did was—“

And then she started to laugh herself, not being able to hold in her snicker any longer.

Mrs., Panim and Mrs. Stottle carried out the still Cheez Whiz-covered boy, and the taunts got even louder and louder.

And the nursery school teacher’s laughing got louder and louder too.

That was the last time Abraham Lincoln Panim attended a school of any kind during his young life.

But he still continued to hear Mrs. Stottle say over and over, “Do unto others as you would have the do unto you … treat other people the way you would like to be treated yourself.”

Chapter 7

7

Abraham Lincoln Panim grew up like any other child would, progressing from being a baby to being a toddler and then, being of school age.

Mrs. Stottle did everything a nanny could do to make her new charge comfortable and familiar to her, taking up her new job as if she were born to do it.

She doted on little Abraham Lincoln Panim as a grandmother would, which the little boy loved,

Mrs. Stottle would arrive promptly at 7 a.m. each weekday—never a minute early or late—and she fed him, played with him all day, took care of his dressing, his feeding, and whatever else was needed.

And from day one, she would tell Abraham Lincoln Panim over and over, as if the little boy could understand her every word:

“Do unto others as you would have the do unto you … treat other people the way you would like to be treated yourself.”

She would try to go outside with her little charge, but she learned that he didn’t take too kindly to being taken outside during the day. Mrs. Panim reiterated that she did not have to do this, because she would take him outside when she got home, but Mrs. Stottle tried, and tried again, and tried many times to get her young charge out into the daylight, but each time, it did not work.

Whether it was people howling at the child when they took a gaze at him, or the child acting up like a tornado when he got outside, the daylight and Abraham Lincoln Panim did not mesh well.

When Mrs., Panim arrived home at about 4 or 5 p.m. each day, Mrs. Stottle would have a laundry list of things to tell Mrs. Panim about her son.

“Your son did so well today,” said Mrs. Stottle on one particular day. “He ate up all his food, he didn’t give me the least bit of problems when I had to take care of his diaper, and we played all day. My feet hurt, but that is good—it means we had a full day!”

“Great!” replied Mrs. Panim, worn out from her busy day at school but happy that her son was doing so well with his nanny, who she seemed to know, but simply could not place days and months after she was hired.

“And,” Mrs. Stottle said that particular day, “you know, a lot of the hair on his little body is falling off, falling off in bunches when I bathe him.”

As little Abraham Lincoln Panim was getting older, moving from a baby to a toddler, much of the hair on his body was falling off, at least from the neck down.

And later, as he approached school age, the hair on his face also was falling off, leaving his face almost hairless—except for a clump of thick hair on his upper chest, hair that still protruded from his lip and nose area, and, of course, the thick swatch of dark hair he had on the top of his head that kind of made a point at his brow and went down both sides of his face, below his ears, making him look like he had dark sideburns on each side of his head.

Although a good portion of the excessive hair was falling off, Abraham Lincoln Panim still kind of resembled at rat, but a not-so hairy one.

“Wow!” said Mrs. Panim. “What type of shampoo are you using on him?”

“Just the usual stuff,” Mrs. Stottle said. “I don’t think it is anything I wouldn’t use on myself, if I had the need to bathe myself like I do your son.”

Eventually, when he was about four or five years old, Abraham Lincoln Panim lost almost all his excess hair—except that burr of hair on his upper chest, the thick hair that he had on his head that stretched down to make sideburns that went past each ear, and the hair protruding from his lip and nose area. but his face continued to resemble that of a rat, with a sharp nose, little beady eyes, and the excess hair had not totally fallen off of his face.

And he still could not stand the smell of cheese, often going into convulsions when he would smell any type of cheese wherever he was.

Chapter 6

6

After she gave birth to her child, Mrs. Panim had a tough time going back to her job at school, but she felt that if she could find someone to watch her son during the day, she would be able to do so.

After trying out several nannies—and most of them being too horrified at the sight of the baby to stay around very long—Mrs. Panim was worried that she would not be able to find anyone to watch her son.

One day, Mrs. Panim was in the local supermarket, shopping for groceries, and she had her son straddled to her as she was looking through the produce section.

An elderly woman, with her white and gray hair tied neatly in a bun on her head, entered the store after Mrs. Panim did, and the older woman went right to the produce section, moving right next to Mrs. Panim as each looked over the store’s selection of lettuce.

“The price is so high right now,” said the older woman, who moved from side to side with a slight limp. “I do wish I could make myself a good salad, but everything is so high. And my feet hurt so, I just can’t gallop over from one market or another to look for produce.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Panim, with one eye looking at the produce, and with the other eye looking at the older woman’s feet, which she saw were kind of large for a person of that stature, as if her feet were swollen. “Prices are very high.”

“And they really must rub you the wrong way,” Mrs. Stottle replied, as she saw the baby that Mrs. Panim had straddled to her. “How do you feed your child, anyway? I hope you can do it better than I can feed myself.”

The two women got to talking, and Mrs. Panim learned that the older woman’s name was Mrs. Stottle, she was a widow, had a husband who passed away just recently, and although he had a small pension, she was finding it harder and harder to make ends meet.

When Mrs. Panim got a clearer look at Mrs. Stottle’s face, she thought that she recognized her, but could not place her.

During their talk, Mrs. Panim found out that Mrs. Stottle had plenty of time on her hands, as she told Mrs. Panim that the only time she left her apartment was to go food shopping.

As Mrs. Stottle talked, Mrs. Panim continued to try and figure out why she knew the older woman, but to no avail.

“Listen, Mrs. Stottle, to help you out, how about me hiring you to be a nanny for my son,” Mrs., Panim said, confident in the fact that she somehow knew this person, e3ven though she could not place her. “I will bet that you would be a great nanny for my son while I am at work, and I would definitely pay you a very fair price for your services.”

Mrs. Stottle said, “Well, I don’t know, I haven’t watched a baby in so long a time,” and then the elderly woman began to sob.

“What’s wrong,” Mrs. Panim said. “Is it something I — “

“No, no, it is nothing you said,” Mrs. Stottle replied. “It just brings up … well … some memories I have of … .”

Mrs. Stottle wiped away the tears, got back her composure, and said,” Yes, yes, I do believe I can do it! What’s your baby’s name and can I take a look at the child?”

As Mrs., Stottle got close, Mrs. Panim pulled away, not ready to allow the older lady to take a peak at her son. Finally she took a deep breath, and did not pull back anymore.

“His name is Abraham Lincoln Panim and here he is,” as Mrs. Panim took back the blanket that her son was wrapped in to reveal the child’s face to the older woman.

Mrs. Panim sensed that the older woman would recoil, like all the other nannies she tried to hire did, but Mrs. Stottle did not even wince, putting her hand on the child’s head.

“Mrs. Panim, I would be honored to watch little Mr. Abraham Lincoln Panim while you are at work,” Mrs. Stottle said as she squinted to get a better look at her new charge. “He looks like a fine young man. I don’t have any references, but I know — ”

“I will need you to watch him during the week, five days a week, from about 7 a.m. to about 4 or 5 p.m.,” stated Mrs. Panim, almost in disbelief that Mrs. Stottle agreed to the assignment.

Mrs. Stottle reached into her pocketbook and her hands fumbled inside of it, and finally she found her glasses.

“I can’t see too well right now, and even with these glasses, my eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Mrs. Stottle said as she put the glasses on. “Nope, I still can’t see that well, but your son looks like a fine boy to me, as best as I can see him, at least.”

Mrs. Panim had never heard anyone say that her son was “a fine boy,” and she kind of forced a little smile on her face when she told the older woman, “And please, no cheese. Do not feed my son any cheese, do not even have any cheese in anything you want to eat. My son appears to be severely allergic to cheese, any cheese.”

“Oh yes, I would love to watch the little boy,” Mrs. Stottle said. “When can I start?”

“ … and he hates to be taken outside during the day,” Mrs. Panim continued. “I have tried to get him a little air during the day, but I guess the sun gets to him … I will take him out when I get home in early evening. Remember, you don’t need to take him out during the day, he much prefers the evening.”

Soon after this chance meeting, Mrs. Panim went back to her teaching job, fully confident that Mrs. Stottle would take care of her child while she was away at work.

But somehow, no matter how hard she thought about it, she could not place Mrs. Stottle at all. She knew the face, but she didn’t know a “Mrs. Stottle” or anyone with that name.

Mrs. Panim often sat up nights, trying to figure out who Mrs. Stottle was. When she did sleep, she continued to sleep on the right side of the bed, leaving the other side of the bed empty, just in case Mr. Panim ever decided to come home.

Chapter 5

5

Abraham Lincoln Panim had a tough go at it from the very beginning, and it continued through his childhood.

Although his mother believed he was the cutest baby she had ever seen, few people agreed with her. When she would take her son out in his baby carriage to get some sun, Mrs. Panim and her baby were the target of many taunts.

One time, a few weeks after Mrs. Panim brought her son home, and the weather had turned from cold winter to less-cold spring, a woman wanted to see the child Mrs. Panim was wheeling around. She was with her own teenage daughter, and the two approached the carriage on a bright spring day.

“May I see your baby?” asked the woman, overdressed in a winter coat meant for temperatures 30 degrees lower than they actually were.

“Don’t bother them,” said her daughter, neatly styled in a spring outfit. “They have better things to do—

“I would be happy to show you my son,” Mrs. Panim said.

The elderly woman approached the baby carriage with her daughter, turned down the blanket that was covering young Abraham Lincoln Panim, and she shrieked, but not with joy.

“This is not your son!” screamed the woman, and she, like the young nurse several weeks ago, fell to the ground by the side of her daughter.

“Mom!” she screamed, took one look at the child herself, and wobbled a bit, but not enough to fall to the ground as she bent down to tend to her mother.

“That’s a dog, or maybe a rat, that’s not a human being!” yelled the younger woman. “You should be arrested for parading that thing around here! And if my mother is hurt, you are going to hear from my lawyer!”

Mrs. Panim knew right then and there that the world would not be as accepting of her son as she was, and she never again took him outside during the daytime, preferring for strolls at night, when street lamps and the light of the moon were the only illumination.

When she would go out at night with her son, she would instinctively look for her husband, anticipating that he would be coming home at last.

But she looked and looked and looked, and he was nowhere to be found.

But that ended up being the least of her problems.

Abraham Lincoln Panim was the world to Mrs. Panim, but the world appeared not to be ready for Abraham Lincoln Panim.