Mud Season
Chapter 2
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
We
went out to eat that night, at a place on the pier known for good seafood and
its piano bar. It wasn’t fancy, but nice
enough that we couldn’t go in our bathing suits, although other people there
had done just that.
Getting
there was a bit of a production, and one Dana said I should get used to. We were picked up by an SUV from the security
company, and it was driven by a guy dressed much like my father. We looked like a family with a spare uncle
along for the ride.
I
didn’t realize, until we stopped at the pier and we weren’t allowed out of the car,
that the security team who’d followed us had to be in place before we got the
okay. That only took a minute or two.
When we left the vehicle, it was a nice night, and the pier was a busy
place. I like piers to begin with. They always have food, usually music, people
fishing, others surfing below, and lots of people selling junk to everyone
else.
Dana
and I dawdled at the tee shirt shops, and laughed at some of the bolder
designs. We snickered at people,
too. You could tell the regular
tourists, the people who don’t get out much, because they wore things that said
Instead,
a real beach person might have a nautical cap from
There
were plenty of people of both varieties there on the pier, and I had Dana in
stitches by the time we got to the restaurant.
Keep in mind that Dana had never gotten out much himself, but he’d already
learned to trust his brother, at least in travel matters that didn’t involve
incoming surf.
We
were supposed to have a surfing lesson at three that afternoon, but at
Denny
made it interesting enough that I wanted to know more. He’s a great teacher, and I could see Dana
hanging on his every word just like I was.
We didn’t get near the water during our first lesson, but we looked at
different boards, touched and felt them, lifted them and felt their heft. In the process we learned something about
what the different lengths and shapes were good for. Most boards these days are mass-produced, but
there is still a cadre of people in different places, mostly in
The
rain made a little quiet time with my father possible after he got back from
the doctor. Elenora and Dana left us
alone while they went to the hotel’s exercise room, which they’d both taken an
interest in. Dana had tried it at first
to stay in shape for skiing, and the trainer knew just what he should do, so he
spent time working out several times a week.
Elenora
was enjoying the lifestyle, and used the gym just to keep her trim figure, so
she took a lighter, more active workout than Dana.
I sat
with my father on the deck of his suite, and we talked. The suite was more-or-less like ours, but it
had one giant bedroom where Dana and I had two smaller rooms, and there were a
couple of convertible sofas in the living area instead of our two-faced
one. The décor was different but the
same, like you’d expect in a hotel.
Their rooms had green where we had tan, and tan
where we had green.
The
roof hung far out over the deck, so we were dry while we watched the rain just
in front of us, and sipped our soft drinks.
Dana and Elenora had been gone ten minutes before we spoke, and it was
Dad who broke the ice, saying the obvious.
“You’re pretty quiet, Paulie. Is
something wrong?”
The
question surprised me, but I guess I am kind of gabby most of the time, and I’d
been quiet. “No,” I said. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s all getting better.” I looked at him, “You were pretty grouchy the
last time I saw you.”
He
grinned, “Mea culpa, I suppose. Maybe
next time you can try being doped up
on illegal things, and take your own beating
with a sewer pipe.” His grin softened
into a smile. “No, that won’t happen.
All you’ve learned is where the gene that taught you how to be
insufferable came from.”
I went
to argue, but he held up the first finger of his good hand, wiggled it back and
forth, and said, “Don’t even try. I have
tales: many tales, and so does your mother. There are times in your own past when we
might have looked favorably on kidnappers, if they’d keep their mouths shut,
and promise not to bring you back.”
“Yeah,”
I said, and Dad talked right over me.
“I know.
Yeah, but I’m a
kid and you’re all grown up.
We have your ticket, Paul. Just
because we don’t press back when you push your poor little me button doesn’t mean we don’t see your finger on
it.” His smile brightened, “You have to
cut me a break. If I was grouchy at
home, it’s because I hurt, and my head wasn’t all back together after my
special cocktail.” He focused on me, his
smile thin, “I hurt, Paul. I was woozy
from the drugs meant to harm me, and more so from the drugs meant to heal
me. Every inch of me hurt, and I was in
a bad mood because I was. No other
reason.”
I
smiled.
Dad
smiled back, “No harm done? I hope not.”
I
smiled more brightly, “Harm? Who said
harm? Look at all the new adjectives I
just learned!”
My
father spit out his last sip of lemonade, and sputtered for a moment longer.
When he recovered, he said, “You’re a pisser, kid. Jesus: new adjectives?”
I
always won these things. I turned
serious and asked, “So, how’s your love life?”
I
could see my father wanting desperately to laugh, but he didn’t. “I don’t see where that’s your concern. How’s yours?”
I
suddenly looked at him and said, “Jesus, you never even met Lisa, did you? Oh, man.”
I looked at him seriously and said, “I really like her. I mean really.”
I had
totally forgotten that my father had never even seen Lisa, except in the
hospital, and he wasn’t seeing a thing when she was there. I had a picture, though, of me and Lisa at
Jamie’s dance. I said, “Wait one
second,” and tore over to the other suite.
I’d brought it for Dad anyhow, and it was already framed.
When I
handed it to him, he just looked at first, then said softly, “Look at you,
huh?” He glanced at me, and looked back
at the picture. “Lisa is a pretty
girl. She looks all full of fun, too.”
I
looked at that picture. It really came
out nice, with both of us smiling like a toothpaste ad, and no redeye or
anything. I sighed, “Yeah, she’s fun,” then thought how that came out. “I mean fun to know! You know, like fun to be with.”
Dad
smiled at me and I said, “I’m doing this wrong.
I mean, Lisa is a nice girl. We have fun together, but … Jesus, Dad. I thought I had the dirty mind. We hold
hands, okay? Sometimes we kiss, but that’s about it.”
My
father still had what seemed like a leer on his face, so I said, “You don’t
have to worry about any little copies of me running around. Not yet, anyhow.”
He
shifted position in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yes.
Well, I’m glad that’s the case.
You said your dance went well?”
“That’s
an understatement. It was perfect –
absolutely perfect. It was a night that
I don’t think anyone there is ever going to forget.”
Dad
asked, “No troublemakers?”
I
shook my head. “None. Not even the kids you might worry about. Everyone was wired up, too, but in a good way
– a really good way.”
My
father smiled, “And you had fun organizing things?”
”It
was fun,” I admitted. “It was work, too,
but definitely fun in the long run. It’s
the first time I ever did something like that, and I really liked it.”
Dad
smiled cheerfully. “That’s great to
hear. I didn’t do a lot in high school,
and I wish I had. I mean, I did well in
my classes, and I was on the track team right through, but I never joined in
any clubs or anything. I did in college,
and I was kind of in awe of the club leaders – they had this poise that came
from experience, and I was a junior before I even tried for a leadership
position. I was way behind the curve,
but learned a lot just the same.” He
smiled again, “I don’t know that I could ever have led a company without that. I’d always had schoolwork and chores for
responsibility, and those things were all assigned. I didn’t choose my homework, and I sure
didn’t choose to cut the grass, but I did both.”
I
always liked when my father talked about his past, because it was a rare thing
He
went on, “You know, when you try for an office anywhere, a club or whatever,
you’re looking for
responsibilities. I think by asking to
be responsible, you’re asserting that whatever the position is, it’s something
you think you can really do well: better than others.”
“I’m a
pretty good fund raiser,” I said.
“So
I’ve heard.”
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
“That
money – the ransom money. Does that just go back in the pile, or can we
do something real with it?”
Dad’s
eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
“Define real.”
I had
to think quickly, because I had an idea that I’d not really thought through,
and there was no point that I could prove.
“I’m thinking scholarships … not regular ones, but kind of for anybody
who wants to learn anything. I mean, the smartest kids get scholarships
even if they’re rich. So do the best
athletes. The other ones I see given at
school are all for excellence in this subject or that, like English, or
history, or drama.”
Dad
smiled, like he understood just from that.
“Leaves a lot of people out, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,
it does,” I said, “And not everyone wants
a degree in molecular biology or something.
People want to be truck drivers, too, and build roads, and to fix cars
and computers. I think there’s a million
ways to make a living, and a ton of people out there to teach what you need to
know. Why should anybody be left out
because they can’t afford to learn?”
My
father’s eyebrows were up, though his gaze was still soft. “Mercy, aren’t you the young liberal?” The eyebrows came down, and the smile
returned. “Well, I guess that’s how
things are. What would you have me do,
Paul? There are probably fifteen million
college-age kids in the
“Dad,”
I said. “
Dad
warned, “Paul …”
“Come
on, admit it,” I said.
Dad
gave me the funniest little smirk, “We have expenses, you know. I don’t have a job right now.”
I
laughed, “Yeah, sure. You couldn’t spend
what you have in ten thousand years, and if you dump ten percent of it, you’ll
still have nine thousand years. You
telling me you’re immortal?”
Dad’s
smile faded, “I used to think exactly that,” he said, as he looked at the wrist
still in a cast. “I guess I know better
now. I still don’t know about your
idea.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t
it make
“What
are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m
saying that you leave out possibly millions of kids who are just as eager, and
just as needy as the people in your own backyard. They don’t count?”
I
swallowed. Of course they count. Everyone does. “I didn’t mean that, Dad. I … I … shouldn’t other rich guys worry about the kids in their backyards? I haven’t
thought this through, and I know I can’t ask you to take care of the whole
world.” I smiled a little, “I count on
your help with ideas like this. I mean,
I’m fifteen. I don’t know what to do all
the time.”
Dad’s
look was incredulous, and he laughed out loud.
“Don’t even try, Paul. Just
don’t, okay? You know more than me, your
mother, God, the school system, and the President himself. You’ve been broadcasting that since the day
you turned eight, and I know crap when I hear it. I’ll tell you what.”
He
stopped, so I asked, “What?”
“You
come up with a viable plan, and we’ll talk again. Be specific about where we can help, and
where we won’t. Come up with a dollar
amount, too, at least the best you can.”
He managed to get his good hand on the edge of his chair, and he said,
“Touch me, Paul.”
“Huh?”
“Touch
me … anywhere. I want, just for a
second, to know what the future feels like.”
I
said, “I’m not the future,” as I leaned closer to put my hand on his. “I’m just me, Dad: your son.”
He
smiled and flipped his hand over to grasp mine.
“You’re the future, Paul. For
sure you are.” He looked off toward the
water for a moment, then right back at me.
“Your generation might be the one, Paul.
I see it in you, and I see it in your friends. I don’t know that I can describe it, except I
see a major paradigm shift.”
“Explain,
please?” I prodded.
“I can
try,” Dad said softly. “I see … I think
I see … more sharing than I’m used to … more togetherness and – I guess it’s
what they call inclusiveness. I see how
your school treats that kid Jeffrey … Jeffrey what’s-his-name … the midget.”
“He’s
a dwarf, Dad. Dwarfism is a medical
condition. What you call midgets are
just small people. Huge difference.”
Dad
said, “I’m sorry,” then he grinned.
“See? That’s just what I
mean. You kids bother to learn
differences like that, when I always thought the words meant the same thing,
and never once worried that I was missing something.”
I
said, “Dad, they taught us at school because
Jeffrey’s there.”
“Conditional
education?”
Dad asked absently.
“Huh?”
“Never
mind. Let’s talk about you.”
I
don’t like talking about me, but I said, “Okay, let’s. You start.”
Dad
smiled, “I intended to start. I’ll start
with me, okay?”
I
nodded.
“Paul,
I never set out to make a huge fortune.
I just wanted to be able to earn a living doing what I was good at. At the time, what I enjoyed were computers
and the Internet, which were both just entering the public domain when I
finished college. I wrote articles at
first: technical articles. People called
me a visionary, but I was only writing about the obvious. Still, lay publications got my name, and
asked me to write for the public, in easy language, about what I saw coming.”
“A
visionary?” I teased.
“I know you make a mean pork chop, but give me a break.”
“Shut
up, Paul.”
I did.
“At
the same time, I got a storefront in
“Yay,”
I said.
Dad
grimaced, “Well, yeah. Yay and nay. I was
twenty-three, and suddenly had a pocketful of money and no job. The Internet was gaining popularity, and I
started another little business to design websites for whoever wanted them:
colleges, mostly, but some pioneering businesses, too, and a few individuals.”
Dad
smiled at me, “I met your mother when I was doing that, Paul. We dated for a really long time, and she
finally said she’d marry me.” He
frowned, “Listen, she may have had feelings then, but I honestly don’t think
she realized she was gay. That’s a
question for her, anyhow, and you learned about it when I did.”
“You
don’t have to …” I said, thinking this was difficult for my father.
“It’s
my story, Paulie. Let me tell it, okay?”
I
nodded, and he went on.
“Not
long after, the Internet was suddenly the next-big-thing, and people were
signing up all over the place.”
Dad
sat back, put his feet on the table, and his good hand behind his head. “Those were good times, Paulie. The best. I had some money, and I had your mother, and
the ideas just kept coming to me.”
He
stopped talking and stared ahead.
“Dad?”
He
looked off into space. “I think I had
the golden touch during those years. My
mind was on fire with ideas, and a lot of them were workable.” He turned to me, his smile kind of awkward,
“I made all this money, Paul, but I can’t say I really earned it. I mean, I did because the ideas were mine,
but the money is all disproportionate.”
His look to me softened, “That’s what I’m trying to say about you:
exactly what I’m trying to say.”
“Which
is?” I asked when he didn’t go on.
“Oh
Paul, I mean that you have the conscience in this family. You’re the one who sees money by itself as
just a pile of stuff, like flashlights without batteries. You’re absolutely right, too, because that
money has no purpose beyond being there if we don’t do something with it.” He looked up at the rainy sky, “How about
this for now? You’re right:
I
watched as his gaze went skyward, into the gloomy clouds. “I’ll make you an offer right now. I’ll double your allowance if you shut up.”
My jaw
dropped, and Dad pointed at me, laughing, “Look at you! Look at
that puss! Haaaaaa ha ha ha ha! I got you
big time!”
I
giggled myself. Dad was right. He had me, which was pretty rare. I tried to recover by saying, “You’re easily
amused these days, aren’t you?”
“Can it, Paul! I got you fair and square, and it’s a rare
day when that happens.” His glee was
kind of catching, and when he said, “Laugh, or else!” I laughed.
I
said, “Okay, truce! What can we do
here?”
Dad
said gently, “I think we can do whatever we want, Paul. It’s our money, after all, and as much yours
as mine.” He reached over and touched
the back of my hand. “I like that you
see the potential good we can do with it, and I like that you see that good on
a large scale, yet one that we can both understand.”
He
closed his eyes and said, “How simple!
Better trained people in all the trades, all walks of life, will make a
difference every day … for everybody!”
His eyes still closed, Dad chuckled, “Picture it! Everywhere you go, everything you ask for,
the people there will understand.
They’ll be able to find what you’re looking for, do what you want
without question, or even tell you what your question should be.”
Dad
opened his eyes and looked at me. “I
like it, Paul. I love it.”
“So,
yes?” I asked.
Dad’s
eyes closed again, and he said, “You tell me, Paulie. You tell me.
We’ll need advice, and Bernie can find that for us. Let me tell you this, though. Look at me.”
I
looked at Dad’s waiting eyes, and he said, “We can do it, kid. You and me, with Dana and Elenora, we can
make things possible for people just when they need it most. Possible!
That’s the word.” He sat back and
closed his eyes again, “Possible,” he mumbled.
“It’s a beautiful word.”
Dad
sat back up and looked at me. “This is
perfect, Paul! It’s beautiful!. Ha ha! You want to weld? Here’s where and here’s how, and it’s paid
for. Heh, ditto if a bricklayer or a chef is the inner you. The same goes for retailers, mechanics,
plumbers, even Indian chiefs.”
“Dad,
I think Indian chiefs are born to it.”
“Well
of course they are, but they must still need some training.”
“I
guess so,” I said.
“So,
what about you, Paul?”
“What
about me?”
“Do
you really hate this money?”
“I
never said that. I just don’t like that
it sits there doing nothing, when I see so much good that could come from
it. We maybe went a little overboard
with Dana and Elenora, but they’re not the only family in trouble. For that matter,
“You
just want to correct that little problem?”
Dad asked with a bit of a smirk.
“That’s
what I want to do. Do you know how your
food and fuel banks are doing up in
Dad
looked at me like I’d just awoken a dim memory.
“I haven’t given that a thought, if you want to know. It’s not a lot of money, but I’ll call and
ask just to set my mind right.” He
smiled, not at me. “I was told that
we’re dealing with honest, hard-working people
It might be early in the summer, but we’ll see who’s paying.”
“What
if it’s nobody?” I asked.
“What
if? I don’t know. I hope that’s not what happens.”
I
touched Dad’s arm so he’d look at me.
“Would nobody paying spoil it for next year?”
Dad
didn’t hesitate, “Absolutely not. Like I
said, it’s not a lot of money.”
I
looked at my father. He was sitting
there, still injured, but his face was peaceful. I said, “I like your attitude.”
He sat
back, looked at me, then away. Then he
laughed: loud enough that the rain stopped and the sun came out. It was an illusion, but the timing was such
that it seemed he’d laughed the clouds out of the sky. He turned to me with a grin, and said, “Sun’s
out. How about a swim? I’ll race you.”
“You’re
on!” I said, and ran to my room, where I tore my clothes off and pulled on my
already-wet bathing suit. Then I did the
stupid. In my haste, I forgot my
card: the card that let me off the sixth
floor for starters, the little card that would also open the door to my room,
where I could retrieve it. There was, of
course, the stairway, and it didn’t require any card to use as an exit, so for
the first time in my life, I trudged. I
actually, consciously, knew I was trudging, and that was a first, but I felt
too utterly stupid to walk normally.
Fortunately,
there was a ding behind me before I reached the fire door, and when I turned to
look, Elenora and Dana got off the elevator.
Well, who else?
I
smiled, “I was just going to the pool for a swim. Dad already went down. Want to come with us?”
Dana
said, “Sure.”
I
looked at Elenora, and she said, “I’ll come down, but I’m just a little bit
sore.” She smiled, “I’ll meet you down
there.”
I
followed Dana into our room, and he saw my card in its slot as soon as he went
to insert his own. Without even looking
at me, he said, “You should be more careful with that.”
He was
back in a minute, wearing trunks and an open shirt. He took my card and handed it to me, and we
trotted over to the elevator without another word.
On the
way down, Dana asked, “Have a good time with Dad?”
“I
guess you could say that. We had a good
talk, anyhow.”
“That’s
the best kind. Anything good come up?”
“I
don’t know. We talked a lot about
money.”
The
elevator door opened, and we ran through the lobby and out to the pool. Dad couldn’t actually go in the water, but he
was sitting on the side with his feet in.
He saw me coming, and attempted to move when he saw my intent, but I was
there first with my cannonball, and I had barely come up for air when Dana
splashed in right beside me. When Dana
came up I grinned at him, but the moment he could see he backed off fast,
grabbed my arm, and yanked me back. When
I looked, Dad had his cast in the air.
Dana
said, “Watch out! That thing’ll turn a
walnut into dust.”
I
looked at Dad, and he wasn’t angry from his drenching. Why would he be? The air was positively steamy after the rain,
so the water must have felt good. I
looked to the far end of the pool and swam lazily in that direction for no
better reason than to do it. At about
the middle of the pool, I rolled onto my back and kicked my way along, arms out
to my side. It’s hard to describe how
good that water felt after almost half a year away from it.
Dana
was suddenly beside me, walking, and asked, “Swim some laps?”
“I
guess,” I said. “I’m probably out of
shape.”
Dana
said, “Maybe we’re even then. I’m not
very good.”
“Not
racing?” I asked.
“Who,
me? I just learned how.”
I swam
to the end of the pool that I was headed to, and hung on the edge. The pool was small to begin with, probably about
forty feet from there to the other end.
I waited until Dana was ready beside me.
“Just swim, right? No race?”
Dana
grinned, “Get over it, okay? I can’t
really swim. You show me how you do it.”
His
expression seemed earnest, so I said, “Okay, let’s go.”
I
pushed off and went underwater at first, which is where I swim best. When I came up for air, I was halfway down
the pool, and expecting Dana to be passing me in the other direction, but I had
to wait a good ten seconds for him to catch up.
When he did, he swam right by, using a simple breast stroke. I spotted him ten feet and caught up easily,
and we touched the end at about the same time.
Dana surprised me when he turned around and swam away, so I did the
same, and swam the length of the pool underwater. I came up right beside Dana again, gasping in
air, and by the time I noticed, he was a quarter-way back in the other
direction.
I
caught up with him, but with effort, and then the sucker turned to do another
length. I grabbed his foot and pulled
him back, causing him to go under. I
think he lost his place, so I pulled him up.
After catching his breath, he seemed annoyed, of course. “What’d you do that for?”
“Do
what? Huh?” I asked, looking around like I’d been
enjoying the scenery. “I didn’t do
anything.”
Dana
looked suspicious, and said, “Well, something
bit my leg then. I thought it was a
hand.”
I
looked at him with my most sober expression.
“Probably a pool shark. They’re
bastards, especially near the edges. Try
staying in the middle. Stay away from
anything that bubbles.”
“Really?”
Dana asked, a bit pale like his tan had suddenly faded.
“Dana?”
“What?”
I
smiled, “Don’t be gullible, man. I will
bullshit you all the time if I think you’ll fall for it. I am a
pool shark, but it has nada to do with water.
I’ll teach you how to play later.”
Dana
looked confused, so I put my hand on his shoulder. “Dana,” I said gently. “Put this one little thought in your mind,
and never forget it, okay?”
He
nodded. “I’m not real, Dana. Well, I’m partly real, but not all. If I think I can mess with your head, I
will. If you think there’s a possibility
that I’m messing with you, then I am. If
you tell me to stop it, I might. Even if
I do, I might start right up again.”
Dana
was smiling by then, “What? I can’t
trust you?”
“I
didn’t say that. You can trust that I’ll
be me, but I can’t promise what I’ll be.”
Dana’s
expression turned serious, “That rhymes.
Just promise you won’t do poetry on me.”
I was
too surprised! Dana was funny sometimes,
and I started laughing. I pulled him to
me until our foreheads were together, when he laughed too.
“That’s
too funny. Do poetry? You don’t like poems?”
Dana
grinned, “Sure I do. I just don’t like
when they’re way over my head. There’s
never poems about things I know. I never
heard a poem about ski racing, only trees and crap.” His expression was precious, especially when
he saw me grinning. He smiled a little,
“Don’t get me wrong, I like trees just fine, but they don’t do anything! They just sit there and grow till they fall
down. They’re only useful dead. I don’t get it. I don’t hear any odes to lumber yards or
fireplaces.” My look got to him, and he
snickered, “Do you know the log cabin poem?”
“I
shook my head, “No.”
Dana
said, “That’s because there isn’t
one.” He shrugged, “I guess it doesn’t
matter. Can we go in the ocean?”
* * * * * * * *
My
dinner that night was great. I went
simple, with a tossed salad and spiced Gulf shrimp with fries. It was all good.
Dana
hadn’t developed a taste for seafood, so he got chicken something-or-other, and
pronounced it okay.
Elenora
had orange roughy that she said was wonderful, but Dad didn’t like his
langostinos much.
Dessert
was good. I got key lime pie, as did Dad
and Elenora. Dana ordered a pineapple
and strawberry shortcake that made me wish I’d read the whole menu. It was a thing to behold, and we all tried
some when Dana said it was too much to finish.
It was wonderful.
When
we were down to coffee, Dad looked at Dana.
“Don’t you have something to say to Paul?”
Dana’s
eyes went wide and he said, “God, I forgot!
Oh, man.”
He
turned to me and said, “Guess what happens in August?”
I just
looked at him, drawing a blank.
He
turned his face into a sunbeam. “We’re
going skiing! Snow skiing!”
My
mouth fell open. “In August? Where do we find snow in August?”
Dana
was excited. “
I
thought, “Wow,” but didn’t voice it. I
just grinned at Dana’s enthusiasm. I
swear, if NASA could drop him from outer space, skis on, over a good mountain
range, he’d try it. He’d love it, and
probably do a back flip just before he hit the snow.
I was
excited too, in my own way. I looked at
my father, “What about the Laundromat?”
Elenora
responded, “I think we can get by for a few weeks without some summer help.”
“I’m
sure you can,” I said. “You’re not
coming?”
Dad
said, “Paul, this is for you and Dana:
your birthday presents.” He
looked at me with what seemed a question on his face. “You speak pretty good Spanish, don’t
you? This isn’t some backwater place,
anyhow; people will speak English, and we’re sending Hector along. He’s fluent in Spanish.”
I
heard all that, and when I had it sorted out in my mind I said, “Dad, I’m not afraid to go with just Dana and me. I just thought … I thought you’d go … because
it’s skiing!”
Dad
stared for a moment. “Paul, listen. I know you think I’m an old goat sometimes,
but this old goat pays the bills, and paying the bills requires income. The Laundromat in
Dad’s
look softened when Elenora smiled at him. He said, “Look, boys. The older you get, the more life asks from
you. There are milestones, and sixteen
is one of them. You’ll be more man than
boy when it passes, so just look at this ski trip as a fun way to slide into
manhood.”
Elenora
gave Dad an adoring look, and said, “Listen to your father. He’s a very smart man.”
* * * * * * * *
It was
about nine when we got back to the hotel, and we all went to our own
rooms. Dana was going to swim for a bit,
and I begged off so I could call Lisa. I
sat on the deck to call, and felt that Heaven was just beyond the rail. Right below me, the hotel pool and the
grounds were lit up and attractive. Some
of that light reached the beach and down to the water, and the water glimmered
under the faint light of a crescent moon.
I
watched idly when Dana jumped into the shallow end of the pool and started
swimming the same leisurely laps that he’d done that afternoon. I looked back to the ocean and saw a cruise
ship in the distance, heading to sea from Port Canaveral. As I watched and grew accustomed to the
lights of night, I made out some of the buoys and beacons that aided safe
sailing, and I could make out the distant glow from the
I was
still talking to Lisa when Dana came from his room to join me on the deck, and
he asked, “Lisa?” in a whisper. I
nodded, and he said, “Tell her I said hi.”
“Dana
says hi,” I said.
Lisa
said, “Ooh! Can I talk to him?”
I held
the phone to Dana and said, “It’s for you,” then made tracks to the bathroom. Too many unanswered beverages.
When I
came back, Dana was yakking with Lisa like he had an old friend on the line,
but as soon as he saw me he said, “I’ll let you go. Here’s Paul,” and he held the phone out.
“I’m
back,” I said.
Lisa
said, “It sounds like you’re having fun there.
What’s it like?”
“It’s
like
Lisa
giggled, “One word: mud. If you need a
verb to go with that, it would be sucks!
Of course, you’re a boy, so you’d be loving it with your
four-wheel-drive, but this is quicksand, and I’m the one who has to rescue our
fat cat when he sinks into the yard.
You’d think with paws like that, he could walk on water, but no. He goes down, and I go get him, and he hates water. I have to dry him in front of the kiln, then
vacuum the mud off, and the vacuum scares him, so he still claws at me.”
I
snickered, and she asked, “Want a cat?”
I
said, “I’ll take Archie in a heartbeat.
Do you mean it?”
Lisa’s
voice came back calm and quiet. “You
know I don’t. That fatso cat is a pain
in the rear, but he’s as much part of this family as any of us.” Her voice quieted even more, and she said,
“He’s as important as any of us. We’re
all pains when we want to be. The Archer
is no worse than me or anyone else. He’s
our giant kitty, and we’re all used to each other, so get your own cat.”
I
snickered, “Lisa, when I asked for your cat, I expected a no. Archie can open doors,
and that frightens me, because I didn’t show him how. If I ever get a kitty, I’ll be wanting to
train him all by myself.”
She
said, “Good luck. You can’t train a cat;
it’s the other way around.”
I
chuckled, “Someone else told me that once.
So if I ever get a cat, it’s me who
does the adapting?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s
it?” I asked. “You mean if I get a
pussycat, the cat will rule supreme? Now
I want one just to prove you’re wrong.”
Lisa
laughed gently, like the tinkling of a little bell. “You won’t prove it wrong, Paul, and it’s not
me. It’s a simple and universal
truth. Cats rule their own domains. All cats do: little bitty ones, big fatsos
like Arch, and the lions in the jungle.
Listen to what my dad said. He
told me there all kinds of submissive people, but there’s no such thing as a submissive kitty. It just doesn’t happen in nature.”
I
laughed. “Maybe I’ll just get a dog, or
a lizard or something.”
Lisa’s
voice was all sweetness. “Go for the
dog, Paul. Even if you get a cat, get a
dog, too. The dog will lick your cat
scratches and make you feel better. If
your cat isn’t a Mainer, it might not eat your dog.”
I
laughed, “Nature maintains its balance?”
“All
the time, it does. Tell me how you’re
really doing there. Please?”
I was
surprised by the question. “Things are
good, I think. I just got here, and it
was a pretty good day. Are you worried?”
“I
don’t worry, Paul. I’m just
concerned. I never met your father. I know you said he wasn’t presentable. That was fine then, but it’s been a month
now. How is your father?”
I had
to do it! “Well, now I have to admit
he’s presentable: maybe not in public, but in private he does well. Not a heckuva lot of drool anymore, and I’m
just positive that I’ll understand his words before long.”
Lisa
makes a sound when she thinks I’m full of it, like if she’s chewing on a
caramel and it has her teeth stuck together.
She made that sound right then, cleared her throat, and said, “Paul
Dunn! If I give you step-by-step
instructions on how to deal with the crap
that comes from your mouth, will you follow them, and promise to bury it where
I say?
“Pardon?”
“Aaaaaaaauh!” she shrieked. “Put Dana on. I need to speak with a human.”
I
looked, and Dana wasn’t there. “I think
he went to bed. Will I do? I can make like a human, at least for a little
while.”
Lisa
laughed. “You’re nuts, but I’m not
complaining.”
We
talked late into the night. It was a
Saturday, so no problem on either end.
Our conversation was shallow in the respect that a lot was going on in
the larger world, but our words held some importance in our own little corner
of that world.
I
suppose it’s fair to say that Lisa and I were becoming serious about each
other, although very little of a serious note passed between us. Still, there was no denying the desire that we
felt for each other. We both knew that
we’d be the victims of a double homicide if we acted on that desire and got
found out, but it was there just the same.
That’s probably where the term ‘flame’ came from, as it’s put to a love
interest. Flaming desire: desire so hot
that it ignites!
Heh.
I like
Lisa a whole lot, and she likes me back.
The desire on my end is real enough, but anything I say from her end is obviously
conjecture on my part.
Lisa
is Italian and Catholic, and I’m Irish and sort-of Catholic. Not practicing: just Catholic. I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t pay
more attention. The new Pope is running
around the world telling good Catholics to get laid more, to make more
babies. It’s sad in most ways, but a
beacon of opportunity to me. Babies=Paul
Dunn, like I can help! And yes, I’ll
raise them Catholic. Well, their mothers
will. Oh, Papal Pope, send me potential
mothers, and I’ll impregnate them till I drop.
I have friends, too, so keep them coming!
Stupid? Maybe it is in a different way.
So
here we go. Take a day off from school, screw
yourselves foolish, and if you produce a child you’ll be rewarded. You will receive remuneration just for
trying.
I
thought of my
I met
Kiril because he wanted a baseball cap, so it’s not right for me to put him
into positions that I dream up. Still,
if the real Pope shows up, or Vlad Putin, Kiril will be there to do what he’s
asked. He’s a real patriot, even in a
Yankees hat.
When I
climbed into bed that night, the bed was comfortable enough, but it was done up
to survive a Vermont winter, and I got back out of it to peel back layers of
covers until I had it right, which was a top sheet and a thin blanket.
Then
it was comfortable, but the room was as silent as a tomb, so I got up one last
time to open the door to the deck. After
that, the distant sound of the surf lulled me to sleep.
It was
the sun that woke me up in the morning.
I just rolled over the first few times, and went back to sleep, but our
star was busy out there, brightening my room annoyingly. I knew that a controller for the blinds
existed somewhere, but had no idea where that was. I gave up and pulled the covers back, then
sat on the side of the bed to yawn and get my bearings. The clock read
I went
to the window and looked out, confronted with a serenity that made me think it
might be the dawn of time itself. Well,
it did until I looked closer in and saw parts of the hotel grounds.
Still,
the tide was full-out, and the beach glimmered in the spoon of the latest
wave. The breakers seemed far off, and
pelicans skimmed just over the surface of the water, splooshing in when they
spied breakfast. Closer in, sandpipers
be-bopped on the sand, daring the waters while they kept their little feet dry
with their own quickness.
I suddenly
knew where I wanted to be, and I pulled on my trunks, grabbed my shirt, and
headed outside for a run in the sand. In
the elevator, when I went to put my card in my pocket, I realized I already had
one there, so the one in my hand was Dana’s.
When the door opened to the lobby, I dutifully reinserted the card to go
back up. If it only controlled the
locks, that would be one thing, but the room would be virtually without power
if I kept the card with me. I slipped
quickly into the room, pushed Dana’s card into the slot, and was on my way.
I
never think of myself as a runner, but I do like to run on the beach, as
difficult as it is.
It was
beautiful out on the sand that morning, with the rising sun glinting on the
water while the pink of dawn was still evident higher in the sky. There were some other people out, even a few
other runners, and I found myself pacing someone who was about two hundred feet
ahead of me. At that distance, I
couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
The person wore the retirement uniform of tan khaki shorts, a light blue
shirt, and floppy white sun hat.
Whoever
it was had an easy-looking lope that I tried to emulate, and when I did the
going became smoother. I started kicking
a bit to the side each time I landed a foot, and my heel-pounding stopped
immediately, and made for a seriously more comfortable run.
It
wasn’t any easier, though, and I was out of breath soon enough. I slowed to a walk, and paid little attention
when someone ran past me, but when he was out front I grinned.
“You
following me?” I asked Hector.
He
stopped and turned, “Stop talking like a fool, Paul. You’re following me.” He pointed at his feet
and said, “I’m here and you’re back there. I don’t have eyes in the back of my
head, so you’re following me.”
“So
what’s the trick, then?”
He
held his hand up, and there was something like an iPod in it. He grinned, “GPS, amigo.” Then he pulled the
plug out of one ear and said, “Audio GPS!”
I
actually got nervous. “How does it know?”
Hector
shook his head, “No, no. That’s a
company secret.”
I just
stared. Hector said, “This tells me what
you’re thinking, too, and I would never do
that with my mother!” He really seemed
angry, and said, “You have a nice day, okay?
Don’t fall into any traps.”
He turned
and ran off, and I was hot on his heels crying, “Hector! Wait!”
He ran
faster, and it was only when my chest felt ready to explode that he stopped and
turned so abruptly that I ran right into him.
He steadied me with a big hand on each of my shoulders while I gasped
for breath. I finally managed to croak
out, “You … are … fast!”
Hector’s
voice was gentle. “Ready to go back?”
I
nodded.
“Want
to walk?”
“For
sure,” I managed, and he walked beside me after I turned around.
It
took a few minutes before my breathing was normal, then Hector asked, “Want to
hear yourself on GPS?”
“Yeah!”
I said, excited.
He
pulled off his earplugs and handed them to me, and I got silence once they were
on. Then, suddenly, there was music that
sounded just like J-Lo. I turned to the
right suddenly, then to the left, and the music didn’t change at all, but
Hector did. He was bent over, hands on
his knees, laughing like mad. He lifted
one hand to point at me, and he laughed harder.
God,
first my father, now Hector: everyone was getting one up on me, and that’s
unnatural. I was not born gullible, but
I seem to be growing into it quite nicely, and it really has to stop.
I
pulled the earplugs off and handed them back without a word. Trust me, if I had a word it would have been
spoken right then, but I felt foolish enough already, and started back toward
the hotel.
Hector
was beside me in an instant, his hand on my shoulder again. “Come on, amigo. I was just having a little fun with you.”
“I
know,” I said, surprised by how small my voice sounded.
He
bopped his palm gently on my shoulder and said, “Tell you what. Don’t get up so early, and I won’t be such a
wise-ass, okay?”
I
snickered, “What? This is your alert
phase?”
“My
grumpy phase,” he said. “Got that?”
“Got
it.”
Back at
the hotel, Hector trotted off just when I heard my name being called. Dad, Elenora and Dana were sitting under an
umbrella in the outside dining area, all waving at me.
I
smiled, suddenly certain that I was going to enjoy this trip.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
…
more