The Saturday Boy Novel (Chap.4 & 5)

CHAPTER FOUR – WE’RE FRIENDS AGAIN

 

 

TODAY IS going to be special. I feel it in my bones. It has been a good summer, so far, a little too dry though.

 

The Truro Reservoir keeps going down. But no one at town hall seems upset. Since nice cold drinking water is still available, I can fill my glass any time I'm thirsty. And drink all I can before rushing downstairs to go some place new with my father.

 

Yes, it has come to that. I rush now. Imagine I’m that excited. Even forgetting the past. I’m sure my father is playing a cat and mouse game with me.

 

He's tricky. And it works.

 

My enthusiasm is a rising scream of joy. He has taken each Saturday and turned it into a series of exciting adventures.

 

"I want every trip to be a surprise," he said. Today is an example.

 

My backpack stares comfortably from the backseat.

 

"Where to?" I quizzed. He doesn't answer at first. I think he's chuckling too, about having me eating out of his hand.

 

"Interested, eh?" he teased.

 

Radical thoughts jump into my head. That self-satisfied smile could be wiped off his face in an instant. What if I opened the door and rolled onto the highway? Like Steven Segal or Van Damm. Grandfather brought me to see their action movies.

 

Even though there’s lots of noise, shootings and explosions, somehow the hero never dies. He always escapes when danger is around.

 

Could I really do that too?

 

My better judgment wins out. With my luck I'd probably bounce back into the car. I shake my head at these crazy thoughts.

 

My father would probably say. "That looks like fun." I know him quite well now. Then I would have to dust myself off and get back into the car.

 

"We're going on a campout..." he started to say, interrupting my thoughts.

 

"Overnight?" I asked, my turn to interrupt his. I just knew he would go and do something stupid like that. What if I wet my bed? It’s not a possibility I like to be reminded about. What would he think of me then?

 

"But I'm scared of the woods at night," I whined. I wonder if he's just trying to scare me.

 

"Who said anything about tenting?” my father answered. “My sister and her family invited us for the weekend. But one night is OK. For you, I mean. Well at least it's a beginning."

 

I didn't like the way he said that. As if I was some kind of orphan child getting a nice little treat. Not too much at once, just a little taste.

 

But I did want to go tenting. That would be awesome. Maybe I should cool my attitude for now.

 

Chewing my thumbnail I tried not to show I was more than a little pleased. It was a start. When I said "French Fries" he knew it was okay.

 

Before I could make any smart comment, we were roaring down the highway, breezes blowing across my forearm.

 

Then my father growled, "It's dangerous having any part of your body hanging out the window. Get your arm in. Now."

 

At first I was going to act stubborn. "Alright," I answered. No sense getting your shorts in a knot, as if a tree branch would reach across the ditch and twist my arm off. Adults always worried about stupid things.

 

"How about a big fat bee squashing against your arm?" he asked.

 

I closed the window quickly. I'm scared of bees.

 

Off highway 104, through Westville, then Hopewell to Rutherford Lake. An hour of driving can go by like anything.

 

The turn-off took us up a rocky hill and our car sounded like it was groaning with pain. Even my butt hurt from the long ride.

 

There was a lot of noise from two kids who burst out of a log cabin to greet us. I never met them before, but I discovered later they were cousins of mine. This could be a pain, I thought.

 

"Hi there." I tried to be pleasant but found it hard with strangers.

 

Funny my mom never mentioned them before.

 

They were my father's niece and nephew. And the older kid's little sister tried to hug me. But I got away. Phew. Next thing you know she'll want to give me a kiss.

 

I brushed my hand slowly through my hair and stared at her. "You're a pain," I wanted to say out loud. But I didn't.

 

I don't know what's so funny. She's smiling at me.

 

There was a small bunkhouse for guests. It had room for six people. Up and down bunks and I got the top one. "Beat you to it, eh?" I said.

 

My father didn't seem to mind the bottom one.

 

Randy was ten and he wanted to sleep in the cabin with us but my father said, "No. It’s only for Jason and I." What a drag.

 

Could you believe a campfire? I don't know how to sing or tell jokes. So how could I have fun? Everyone seemed excited. How come I wasn't?

 

The only thing that interested me was poking my branch in the fire and watching it burn. Of course it would have to be against the rules when I took it out and twirled it over my head. Sparks flew.

 

"Cut that out Jay," my father demanded. When he said Jay instead of Jason I knew he was upset. So I did what he wanted, for now.

 

I didn't like the story of Rap-Rap. Imagine, two children finding an abandoned farm then hearing a mysterious sound, which followed them through the building. Then they found out the “Rap-Rap” sound was really "Wrapping Paper."

 

How gross. Everyone else clapped and hooted. Beats me all to pieces. Sort of a stupid story anyway.

 

And when they talked about going for hike later, Randy and Susan, she was seven...were for it. Their parents were too. Me, I just wanted to go to bed and hide until daylight.

 

"No, it’s not me." I said, before wandering away from the campfire. "Besides I can’t sing." I sat by the trunk of a tall tree. It felt cold sitting there on the ground. I was alone again. As if I was on the moon or something.       The dark does something to me. I must have been scared when I was really small, 'cause I think up all sorts of scary things.

 

Like wolves and bears chasing me. Sometimes I dream terrible things. Mother said she thought it had to do with my father leaving so suddenly.

 

My last nightmare was about a bear that ran out of the bush and I scrambled up a tree. But before I climbed too far, it bit into my ankle. Once in a while I can still imagine my bones crunching.

 

Then when I awoke from my dream in the middle of the night, I was wet. 'Pissy-pants' was a name I hated. It stayed with me a long time when some friends discovered my problem during a sleepover.

 

Now here I was in the woods. And wet in my sleeping bag. I crawled out, shivering, and made my way down the ladder. I woke my father and told him what happened. I was freezing.

 

He was really kind. It didn't bother him it was only 2 am. He got the flashlight and found some extra dry clothes. I felt better. And warmer.

 

He didn't even tease me about it.

 

Then I almost fainted when my father suggested we go for a bush hike. "Just for a little talk, Jason, before you get back to sleep."

 

"In the dark?" I asked. "Do you know what time it is?" I mumbled. Maybe his watch didn't light up like mine.

 

How could I turn him down after he was so kind?

 

But I was fearful going very far down the road. The darkness was everywhere, even with flashlights. I stayed so close to him I was almost standing on his head. At least in the dark no one could see how afraid I was. Another name I hate being called is 'baby.'

 

The stars were so bright, they looked like diamonds blinking, on, then off, over and over. It was totally cool.

 

But I had enough. I began to whine, like a puppy dog. The night seemed to be closing in on me. The darkness was like a blanket suffocating me.

 

I forgot all about the Big Dipper or Ursa Major, as my father just finished explaining. Even the North Star didn't mean much right now.

 

I could sense my father staring at me as I sat on the cold gravel road crying like a baby. Then I started to shake.

 

My arms wrapped around my father's legs and I pressed my wet face to his jeans. I don't remember much about what happened then. Except my father picking me up and carrying me back to the cabin and putting me to bed.

 

It was like I was eight years old again before he went away. I was with my hero. I loved my dad so much.

 

It was like a step back in time. I remember someone singing to me.

 

I felt warm hands rubbing my legs, then my arms then my back. I remember thinking, whoever was doing this should scratch my head. I like having my head scratched.

 

Then I was sound asleep.

 

I missed hearing my father say, "I'm so sorry Jason."

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE – BIRTHDAY FOR A FATHER

 

 

THE FAMILIAR toot-toot of the car horn carries through the front door. I'm off and running down the stairs. These Saturdays sure roll around quickly

 

"Be careful on the stairs," mom and I sing together.

 

She's looking at me with her head cocked to the right, arms folded. Yes, she is looking younger these days.

 

I blow her a kiss. After all, she’s mom. Maybe I should give her a big hug. Well, not right now. No time. I waggle my fingers, "Bye," and head out the door.

 

We’re bringing our swimming suits and towels and the sun is back smiling a happy, warm face.

 

It's going to be a great day.

 

I'm a terrible swimmer. In fact I'm afraid of deep water. If my feet can't touch, then watch out. Besides, I'm dangerous to be around when I panic.

Someone would have to sock me in the jaw if they tried to save me.

 

Mom said it’s because when I was five at summer camp, some bigger kids threw me off the dock.

 

Brrr, just thinking about it makes my whole body freeze up. Closing my eyes I still see my skinny legs twisting and kicking. Good thing a counselor was nearby. I was scared.

 

Today my father didn't say anything. Usually he peppered me with questions, like those lawyers on the program, CSI.

 

"Did you do this or did you enjoy that? What do you think of...?" And on it went, about school, friends and mom. Every Saturday it was more like Twenty Questions on everything that happened to me during the week.

 

He was strangely quiet sitting in the car. I stopped chattering and watched. He kept checking his watch and looking around. As if he had something to say, but didn't know how to say it.

 

Do adults have problems like kids? I wondered.

 

Maybe I should lighten up the trip. I yakked on about usual fun stuff, computer games, the guys and my favorite hockey player, Sidney Crosby. I move my hands around a lot when I’m talking, same as mom.

 

Before long I have my father laughing.

 

I tell him about Jamie, my friend next door. He kept bugging me about a ride on my new bike. And I kept saying no. “No, means NO!” I said. Father seemed pleased I was standing up for my rights.

 

And Julia, his sister, made eyes at me. I think it’s because I told my buddy she looked cute. That was two weeks old news, but I threw it in anyways.

 

I thought I was going to shout out a large French Fries just seeing my father laugh. "I'm doing my chores around the house more cheerfully now," I said.

 

It’s important that he’s happy, just like me. Man, the familiar smell of his cigarette smoke still makes me wrinkle my nose. I don't want to make a comment and take away his good spirits. So I keep my trap shut.

 

I never went many places before and now he takes me every Saturday. Maybe it helps him make up for the past.

 

Whenever I speak to my grandfather on the phone, I usually brag about what my father and I habr done. I’m sure granddad is a bit jealous, since we used to spend a lot of time together. Not so much these days.

 

I hope to be the same as my father someday. Doing things with my own son. Today's special to me and can barely keep it inside. It’s my father’s birthday.

 

Even mom didn't mention a thing about our surprise. That seems to be the only thought on my mind as the car rolls along.

 

Suddenly we’re at our destination. Wherever this is. I have a habit of talking to myself and before I know it "Gosh darn, we're here."

 

Both of us sit quietly for a few minutes and I jump when my father says, "OK, Sport, out." He had been so quiet all the way I almost ask, "What's bothering you?" But I don't.

 

We begin to hike on a trail near my grandfather's farm. How did my father know about this place? Gramps brought me here last summer. "It's a great place," Gramps said at the time. And I agreed.

 

My father and I must have walked about two miles along the river. When we arrive at the Falls two men and a lady are leaving.

 

What a French Fries place this is. It still looks the same as when I came with granddad last year. Boulders on the Salmon River mark a spot where older kids once jumped into a deep pool.

 

The waterfall isn’t deep today, since I can see rocks peeking from the surface. We need more rainfall.

 

But I’m sure glad it has enough water for a good swim. I can’t wait to get my feet wet.

 

Father and I change into our trunks. He was a stranger at first. Now he’s more like a buddy.

 

The way everything is turning out he might be interested in being my dad again, all the time. Not just one day a week either.

 

Father led the way into the water. "Take it easy at first," he said. "Let your body get used to the temperature. Splash water on your wrists, face, shoulders, heart and belly button."

 

I listened to him rattle off each step then he stepped into the water and waded out until he dipped his head below the surface. It took a while longer before I did the same.

 

The next two hours we swam and splashed around, with a lot of laughing bouncing from one side of the river to the other. Imagine. Having fun with my father? Dreams do come true.

 

My father and I were just relaxing, heads sticking out of the water, like two frogs. There was something he wanted to say; I just knew it. There was a pounding in my heart. What’s wrong? I almost asked.

 

After we left the waterfall we didn't go straight home.

 

Instead we drove into my grandfather's yard. Father opened his eyes. Wide.

“It’s a surprise birthday party!” I yelled. Usually I’m really cool but this was something very special planned by mom and I. I just couldn’t keep it in any longer. Everyone is here, grandfather, mom, my aunts and my cousin Diane.

 

We had hot dogs, hamburgers, pop and everything else to fill your gut.

 

Even grandfather's dog Jody is getting in on the eating. My father’s birthday cake is yellow and green. With a stack of candles, that lit up like fireworks.

 

He scrunched up his face and whooshed them all out. Almost didn't make it, but he did.

 

"Happy birthday,” everyone said.

 

It was a great day. And father received neat gifts. The usual socks, ties and shaving lotion piled up on the table.

 

Lots of photos were taken, with me in many of them.

 

I think the next time my father comes to get me on Saturday, I'm going to call him Dad.

 

I can't wait.