A Song for Kenny Novel (Part 8)

MISS YA LARRY, YOU TOO MOM

Morning's sun was like a furnace. It wasn't very comfortable to have your face feel like a pancake on a hot griddle. Only the smell of maple syrup and butter would have made it all worthwhile. Kenny stretched and rubbed his eyes.

            He had run away. He had no choice. There, it was out in the open. "I ran away." Even Troy didn't think he could do it. Kenny exhaled heavily and peered out of the tent.

            The stream trickled in a lazy flow twenty feet away.

            "Bet there's nice speckles there." Kenny's mouth watered at the thought. He could see himself casting into the current. Then he could prepare a great breakfast of pancakes and trout. "What a neat mixture."

            "Wish Larry was here," he said aloud. Usually they were always together to share woodsy adventures. His thoughts turned to the home front.

            Now why was mom always asking him to go somewhere with James? Didn't she like Larry? Was she afraid he'd kidnap him or something?

            And then it hit him. He had wondered in the past why a certain thought didn't take hold when he had been at home. There must be something in the fresh air of the outdoors, he wondered.

            Everything seemed so crisp and clear out here.

            She was trying to have Kenny spend less time with Larry, and more with James. Maybe she simply wanted her son to get to know him better. Of course, that's it. She must really like James.

He tried to imagine his mother married again.

            He had been so happy before James came into the picture. Why did things have to change?

            It was a family then, just he and mom. Kenny had gotten over his own father being out of his life. 'Divorce' became just another word in the dictionary.

            Now there was James. It had seemed they just didn't like each other. James was always trying to get Kenny in trouble, and always correcting Kenny. Was he just imagining all this? Was it really that bad?

            Why didn't Kenny talk it over with someone? He could have discussed it with his mom or Larry, even James. And then Kenny had to have that silly argument with Troy.

            "It's not fair." Tears tried to break loose.

 

The sky was blue with cirrus streaks far above. Tall pines shook and squeaked. A gray jay hopped into view. The bird just seemed to fall out of the sky.

            Kenny took it all in. The wind was like a warm breath on his neck, a nice feeling, warm and pleasant.

            Kenny's memory was clear and sharp. He felt good to be thinking about his pal. He had such fun with Larry. Just remembering the times together made it seem Larry was right here.

            What was wrong with pretending? He needed a dad and in his heart Larry was his dad. Was anything else important?

            They were friends, a team.

            No, he thought to himself. Larry's not just my friend. He's really a dad to me. And I'm glad.

            Would his dad be upset?

            Would his mom even understand?

            Kenny washed his hands in the creek. The cold water sent shivers down his spine. Then he splashed under his arms and over his shoulders. Never mind his bare belly felt like it was frozen. He wasn't trying to be brave or anything, just good hygiene.

            Larry had shown him it was a good way to wake up.

            His shirt lay in a corner of the bush, now damp from his splashing. Water tickled his neck and back. He quickly rubbed soap under arms, face and neck. White foamy streaks ran in rivers down his skin.

            Washing off the soap brought forth grunts and groans. He quickly reached for his towel, and rubbed vigorously. That felt better.

            He grabbed his soaked shirt and ran back to the tent.           

            Kenny dabbed mosquito repellant across the back of his hands and legs. Then he massaged his forehead, neck and ears. He hated the smell.

            The mosquitoes at the end of June were worse than he realized. And here he was in the woods like some Coureur-de-bois.

            But he loved it here.

            Finally he had his breakfast. After bacon and eggs, he felt great. Using his canned powder crystals Kenny made juice from the creek water. His Hal-zone tablets made sure any germs were destroyed.

            Time to explore. It looked like a great day ahead of him. Kenny searched for his compass, but no luck. Then he remembered when he fell last night. "Oh no, my compass! Darn, darn." he muttered.

            Larry always reminded him, "Never be without a compass." He had even taught Kenny how to use one.

            Well Kenny figured he might be all right if he stuck with the creek while he did some serious exploring.

            He checked out his supplies of cereal, bread, wieners and canned goods. He then placed the perishables in a garbage bag and hung them in a tree about 7 feet off the ground.

            That would keep them safe from animals.

            Then he opened up his sleeping bag and hung it on a clothesline. The sun would freshen it up and breezes fluff up the material. "I'll only be gone a little while," he thought.

            He took an apple and a chocolate bar, along for his hike. Dishes were cleaned off the best he could using gritty sand from the creek. His utensils and plate were left out in the sun to dry.

            His hunting knife felt snug on his hip.

            Kenny spotted the beaver dam just around the bend. It looked about 100 feet across the creek to the other side. He worked his way up to it and sat by the bank.

            He could imagine a beaver family sleeping in their house in the center of the newly created pond. Piles of beaver chips lay scattered near-by. Whole trees lay felled by sharp teeth.

They looked like gigantic spears ready for battle.

            Kenny listened as several crows had a racket-making contest.

            He tried to spot any trout movement. There! Several slim dark forms scooted along the edge of the bank. If only he had a worm. He would try some fishing. Maybe later.

            Kenny set out, smacking at the flies. He squinted into the sun trying to figure out his direction.

            Darn. He forgot his fly repellant. Looking back he could barely make out his yellow nylon tent. And it was too far to go get it from his packsack.

             Maybe too lazy was a better reason.

            Then a thought came to him. Larry once said, "Using mud from the edge of a pond will keep the mosquitoes away."

            He took handfuls and rubbed his ears, neck, hands and around his ankles. It was really stinky stuff. But at least he was ready to continue his journey.

            A muddy-faced boy headed into the woods.