The Saturday Boy (Chap.3)

CHAPTER THREE 

 

LEARNING TO DO THINGSWE WERE on our way to a different place this Saturday. A forest of trees leaned over us like a warm blanket.

 

I felt eerie and excited at the same time.

 

Leaves moved noisily along the ravines in the hot sun. They seemed to shake off our car’s dust cloud scooting their way.

 

"What's the name of this place?" I asked.

 

"Rifle Range Road."

 

"How come?" Here I go again with my usual questions. Grandpa always said," If you don't ask a question you'll never learn the answer."

 

"That's where the Camden-Harmony Rifle Club meets. Look there!" my father pointed.

 

At that exact moment, through a bare spot in the trees I spotted a building, low-slung beneath the hill on our right. "French fries," I replied.

 

That's where club members shoot from," he added.

 

Looking carefully I saw the backdrop where bullets ended up, a sandy hillside several hundred yards away.

 

"Safe too," my father said. "That way bullets don't ricochet.

 

"Ricochet?" I asked. My belly itched, so I scratched it.

 

"Bounce back and bean you," my father said, clamping his hand on my knee.

 

"Ouch."

 

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

 

"That hurt." I wanted to slug him a good one on the shoulder for scaring me.

 

I really didn't mind it that much. It's just that I didn't want him thinking I was totally glad to be with him. Let him earn the privilege. “Hey, cool it, he’s been away a long time,” I said to myself.

 

The road is bumpy and the wagon moved slowly over the rough gravel. Dust settled on the once shiny body.

 

We stopped. I wondered if we were turning back.

 

"Jason, I want to ask you something."

 

"What?" It sounded serious.

 

"Well...how come you came today?"

 

"I...wanted to." It was not my nature to lie. And my father did catch me off guard. He seemed able to do that easily.

 

"I'm really glad you said that, because well, last week I didn't think you enjoyed yourself. And I want our outings to be fun. I figure you spend all week in town, so this is something different."

 

"Oh boy, I thought. Now we're really getting personal. "French fries," I added.

 

"Now I know you're thinking good things on these trips. I guess my idea isn't so bad after all."

 

"What's that?"

 

"Well, you know. Father and son things."

 

"Things?"

 

"Getting out together. Having a chance to get to know each other again. You know what I mean?"

 

"Yah."

 

"You're my Saturday Boy," he said.

 

I knew what he meant since all our outings were only on Saturday. We didn’t talk during the week, so this was it. Well at least he wasn't grouchy or criticizing me. And he didn't yell, like I expected he might.

 

I sat back and took a good look at my father. This guy turned my whole world upside down. Like an adventure novel with twists and turns.

 

A Louis L’Amour type of cowboy who rides into town, says he's sorry and everyone loves him. Then he leaves.

 

Well, it's not going to be that way with me. I won't make it easy for him. I was alone too much to forget.

 

"Why didn't you write me?" There I said it. It just slipped out. The question sat on my mind since he came back into my life.

 

"Or phone? Why didn't you phone? Not once, even."

 

I didn't want to be mean, just to make sure he didn't forget about the past. He seemed surprised by my questions. Maybe he thought I would have forgotten about my hurt. Well I didn't. He deserves my questions.

 

My father sat watching me. I knew he was really thinking about what I said. I did look like him a little. Kind of funny, like looking in a mirror.

 

Except he wore glasses, I hope I never have to. No-body is going to call me 'Goo-Goo' eyes. Not even ‘Four Eyes.’

 

Will you look at the open shirt-jacket he wears? The faded brown-checkered material hung loosely over his waist. And his T-shirt showed underneath. He must be warm on this kind of day.

 

Me, I'm happy with just a floppy T-shirt.

 

"Do you want to drive?" he asked.

 

"The car?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Really?" I could hardly believe my ears. Imagine, at my age not having done this before. "Alright. How?" And I reached for the floor stick shift.

 

"Not yet. Listen to what I say. Now, slowly on this gravel road, OK?"

 

It wasn't long before I got the hang of it. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel while I checked everything out. I’m sure his heart was pounding like mine as I drove carefully along the old road.

 

Maybe I'll let him off this time, I thought. I'll ask why he didn't write, another time.

 

"How am I doing?" I asked.

 

"Fine."

 

The road twisted and turned for about two miles. We stopped and got out a couple of times and checked the stream for any good fishing spots.

 

The stream...I prefer to call it a creek...scraped back and forth across the road. No luck catching any brook trout. The creek was too low. "Not enough rain," my father said.

 

"Are speckled trout and brookies the same?" I asked.

 

"Yes," he said quietly.

 

We traveled on, checking other fishing holes.

 

I stopped before driving over a wooden culvert sticking out of the road. He was really pleased when I spotted some nails that could have given us a flat tire. I got out and banged them flat with a rock.

 

"Thanks." he said, looking at me solemnly. Now I knew he'd heard my questions. It was just taking a while for his answers.

 

"Father," I said. "I'm glad I came." I turned away quickly before he could see my eyes were getting wet.

 

We finally stopped and parked on the side in a firm clearing.

 

I waited patiently. He took his time getting out of the car and seemed to be enjoying the peace and quiet. What was he waiting for? I watched him take out the picnic basket mom provided.

 

In it was Kool-Aid. And cake. I helped prepare our munchies.

 

We put a heavy furniture blanket on the ground and sat down, with our running shoes on the grass beside us. "It looks big enough for Hulk Hogan to wrestle on," I said.

 

Dad suddenly grabbed me in a bear hug and threw me down on the blanket, as if he was the Hulk.

 

"Hey!" I said, startled.

 

It was kind of strange. Here I am with a father who came back into my life after abandoning us. And mom and my friends were only ten miles away in Truro. It was as if this was so normal. I wondered what they really thought about us going out like old times. "Poor little kid finally has his father back." I just know it.

 

I couldn't call him dad, at least not yet. Maybe never. We arm-wrestled a few times. I liked his laugh when I showed off my muscles.

 

"French fries!” I yelled out.

 

After our drinks, sandwiches and cookies, he helped me put everything away. He was surprised I didn't eat more cookies.

 

"I'm trying not to gobble up too many sweets," I said.

 

I knew he was pleased.

 

We Hiked down the trail and followed a small creek trying our luck with the fish. We raced each other through scratchy raspberry bushes.

 

I beat him easily.

 

I was still a bit afraid of the woods. Must have seen too many monster movies or something. I wasn't used to this bush-walking stuff. Me, I’m a townie.

 

The sun was so warm. We walked through willow thickets to deeper water holes where the big fish were. After a while I was tired. Tall ferns and raspberry bushes kept grabbing at my legs.

 

They hurt when their prickles penetrated my jeans.

 

It wasn't long before we had to go home.

 

I enjoyed being with my father. He’s fun but the day ended too soon.

 

Before we parted, he simply said, "I’m really sorry." We both knew what he meant. At least it was an answer to my previous questions.