The Saturday Boy Novel (Chap. 2)

CHAPTER TWO – A STRANGER RETURNS

                                        

 

IT’S OKAY. Take it easy. Butterflies are swooping around inside my stomach. And my palms are sweaty. Or is it just my forehead?

 

I shouldn’t sweat just because my father is coming for a visit. Come on, Jay. This is not a life-threatening problem.

 

Where is he?

 

My father phoned and first talked to mom about today. Then my father and I made plans for our first visit together. She explained she was nervous, too.

 

I like that a lot. I don't feel so bad.

 

My eyes are wider than a boxer waiting to get hit with the first uppercut. This is crazy, I’m running around like an over anxious puppy. Mom keeps telling me to settle down.

 

I love mom for that, stepping in when I need it.

 

She makes me feel special. And her hands always talk a blue streak in front of her. Like fans twirling. It reminds me of those windmills in Holland. "I know you'll have a good time," she kept saying.

 

There was a pinch of red on her cheek. And it brought a wide grin to my skinny face. It is sort of rectangular, with a square jaw at one end and at the other, two black spots for eyes.

 

Imagine that's me.

 

"Would my father make fun of my zits?" I worried. Maybe I don't look like the son he wanted.

 

When I look in the mirror, I think I'm ugly.

 

My first trip with my father should be interesting. Sitting down in my room is hard to do that's why I’m staring out the window when he finally came.

 

What am I supposed to call him? What will we talk about? My grandpa had become more like a dad. Not this guy. Was I supposed to just run up and say, "Hey pops, good to see you? Give me a high five."

 

No way. Not this 'kiddo.'

 

But when I heard his car horn honk twice, I was off like an Olympic runner. It's a wonder I didn't break my neck running down the stairs. Almost smashed my nose on the front door.

 

Can't make it any flatter than it is already. Private joke.

 

The door opened and he stood there on the front porch, staring at me. He moved forward and I knew a hug was on the way.

 

"Uh. Uh." I said.

 

He stopped short. He looked disappointed.

 

I knew mom told him this Saturday business would be hard on me. She was good at taking my side. I went along with this arrangement, mostly to humor her. She said I needed to try it out.

 

That it was time to forgive.

 

Secretly, I wanted him back in my life again. I already had my mom and my grandpa. But there was something missing inside of me. Part of me had grown up too quickly.

 

And I worried I might have grown up a little 'wimpy.'

 

"Hello son!"

 

"Hello."

 

"Hi, son!"

 

"Hi."

 

"It's your dad. Hi." He sounded disappointed.

 

"Hi."

 

"You can call me dad."

 

"No. I mean..."

 

"It's okay. Then try father."

 

"Father." That seemed to satisfy him. But saying it after all these years was more like a hammer striking mud, a big nothing thud. What did he expect from me?

 

Then we were on our way in his new wagon. The leather smelled great. Must be rented, I thought. How could he afford this? Was he rich?

 

I could see my father glancing at my thick mop of hair. "What style is that?" he asked.

 

"Like it?" I asked, cutting him off with a question of my own.

 

"Yes."

 

After a long pause, he said, "Don't talk much, eh?"

 

I didn't answer at first. How did he expect me to behave, after all this time? I wanted to grab him...I was all mixed up. And hug him. And cry.

 

But I couldn't. I was still angry with him for going away. Well at least a little upset. No a lot. Besides, it wouldn't do to get tears on my new T-shirt. It had a neat diagram with the word “Evolution” across the front.

 

I really didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. But, it sort of made up for me being such a 'shrimp' for my age.

 

I knew my father disapproved of any shirt hanging over jeans. Come on man, this is the style. And I sure didn't want to be different from my buddies, besides, if he didn’t like it, tough bananas.

 

He should realize I’m a lot older now and mom allows me to make more decisions on my own. Like deciding if I want a haircut or not. He looks too dressed up in a shirt and tie. I scuff my new sneakers across the floor. Where are we going? I finally ask.

 

"Have I got a surprise for you!" He yells, followed by a strange, "HAR, HAR, HAR."

 

"Me too, I thought. Good thing he can't read my thoughts.

 

The faster this trip is over, the better. I was already getting cold feet. What’s coming next? I wondered. "Hey, I'm hungry," I said. Whenever I’m nervous I have to eat. It's a wonder I'm not 200 pounds.

 

"Oh no. We're not ready for that yet. This is a special treat."

 

I tried to hold back my excitement. I love surprises. Then finally something let loose inside of me. I took off my 'tough-guy' mask.

 

I told him about our cat, Boots, and the deer back of the house in Sheldon.

 

And I still had my teddy bear. Oops, skip that, a real close one. Hope he didn't notice it during my chatter.

 

Buddy is a present from someone a long time ago. I don't know why, but I take him everywhere. He’s hiding in my backpack right now, along with my folding fishing rod and reel. The teddy is brown with a white face and hazel eyes, a stuffed old friend from the past.

 

Did I want him to think I was a reject or something? "French Fries."

 

"What did you say?"

 

"Me?"

 

"Yes."

 

"French Fries."

 

"Where did you pick that up?"

 

"I dunno. It's what I say when I get happy."

 

"Are you happy now?"

 

I didn't like the way he tricked me into saying my thoughts. My hands wrung together and I counted my fingers.

 

It helps me concentrate. "Yup, still ten."

 

"Eh?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"What did you say?"

 

"...Nothing." It’s a silly trick I always use that dodo line to change the subject, like now.

 

We continue on in silence.

 

I brought my new fishing rod grandpa gave me last year. We never did get to go fishing. His arthritis suddenly bothered him a lot and walking became very painful.

 

My father doesn't know my fold-up fishing rod and reel are in my packsack. It always came along with me even if it never got used. I also had a small plastic case with #6 hooks and others in case there were huge fish around.

 

Hope he didn't notice my chewed up fingernails. Usually I'm pretty clean. Mom's always after me. "Cut your nails. Clean your nails. You're a man now." Sometimes I let her do them.

 

I don’t always act my age.

 

But today is sort of mixed up. Did I wash my face? Did my father check out my untidy room? Why am I worrying so much?

 

I know he’s itching to say something about my room.

 

So what? Who cares? Then we were in Greenfield, about six miles past Truro and before I knew it, we ran out of pavement. Dust swirled around the car. I coughed because it bothered my asthma. So I closed my window. My father did the same.

 

"Sorry about that," he said. He had forgotten about my condition.

 

I also didn't dare say how scared I was of fast driving. If I thought about it too much, I might... piss my pants.

 

Did mom tell him I wet the bed? That's our little secret. No, she wouldn't. Then we stopped. It was so quiet, just the two of us. We parked on a little side road.

 

It was really silent. I could almost hear the trees wondering what we were doing here. There were blueberry bushes and nothing else but sky.

 

"Well Sport, here we are. We're going to catch some big ones!!" And he jumped out of the car then changed into an old pair of jeans.

 

"Did you think I was going fishing in my best clothes?"

 

"We are going fishing!" I gasped. "French fries!"

 

It was not very long before my father had an old shirt on. Then rubber boots and his cap, with a beer picture on it. I already had on my outdoor clothes.

 

He drinks beer? I tried not to look shocked. But who am I to point fingers. My buddy and I chugged one at his house last week. Raided his parent’s fridge. I remember the taste. It was crappy.

 

Hope his parents don’t find out.

 

We walked along a really old trail into deeper woods. And I heard lots of strange noises. I stayed really close, since I was nervous in the woods, about bears and all that.

 

"What's that?" I whispered. He didn't hear me.

 

I was a bit scared. All those birds chirping from tree to tree helped me calm down. But, the wind was moaning and branches cracking. Shivers did the Indy 500 up and down my back.

 

I didn't look down often enough and kept stepping in puddles. The ground was sure damp in April. Now my feet are wet, but I pretend I don't mind.

 

"Be careful, Jason. No sense getting an early swim."

 

I like that. He isn/t being a nag or anything. “Call me Jay,” I said.

 

“Call me dad,” he answered.

 

We went down a steep bank, past whole clumps of ferns and my father stopped several times, checking around.

 

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

 

"For deer sign," he said.

 

I knew deer sign was just a nice way to avoid saying deer crap. I couldn't see any either, not that I had seen any before.

 

My mouth watered for blueberries I would pick this summer. Reddish fields of them spread out before me. When I saw the creek, it looked peaceful. My chest felt kind of funny. And I could hardly talk.

 

I wasn't used to these feelings. It was beautiful here.

 

When my father came close, I gave him a slug on the arm. He didn't seem to mind.

 

We used up a lot of worms to catch three little trout. I didn’t tease him because he was already disappointed. The mosquitoes didn't bother me after I caught my first fish. It was only a little one, but to me it was a monster. And I remembered my first one, a long time ago.

 

"I got one!" I yelled, over and over. "Me, I got one!" I guess I was just like a little kid again, like old times.

 

My father only stared while I jumped up and down, like a crazy man. He helped me untangle my line and look for the trout that fell off the hook. But, I found my trout in the reeds and happily placed it in my creel. Once again I cast my line into the same spot and “BINGO!” I had a whack of a fight but I finally brought it in.

 

"Another one!" I shouted rubbing it in.

 

I saw my father wipe at his face. Was he sweaty or something?

 

I was so excited on our first trip, I barely realized we were home and my father was driving away. The time had gone by that quickly.

 

"See you next Saturday," was all I could remember. I waved to the back of his car.

 

The smoke from his exhaust seemed to wave back.