Someone's Son Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Father and son were now on their way to a different place. Rustling trees hovered over them like large bats. Leaves blew noisily under a blue sky.

          Sheldon felt eerie and excited at the same time. "What's the name of this place?" he asked.

          "Rifle Range Road."

          Here I go again with my usual questions. But Larry always said how important it was to ask. "If you don't ask a question -- no matter how stupid -- you'll never learn the answer," he said.

          "That's where the Camden-Harmony Rifle Club meets. Look there!" his father shouted. "I used to be a member. You know, when you were younger."

          At that precise moment Sheldon spotted a small building poking through a bare space between the trees. "Cool," he said.

          "Well, that's where they shoot from," his father added.

          And sure enough Sheldon saw where the bullets must go. Into a hill several hundred yards in front. His father said, "That way the bullets don't ricochet."

          "Ricochet?" Sheldon's belly itched, and he scratched it. He could smell gunpowder in the air.

          "Bounce back and bean you," his father said, clamping his hand on Sheldon's knee.

          "Ouch."

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

          "That hurt."

          They moved slowly over new gravel that felt like boulders. Dust settled heavily on the once shiny car.

          When they stopped, Sheldon wondered if they were turning back. He felt comfortable here, and wished it could stay pleasant like this. It was nice, just the two of them sitting. No words, only memories to wrestle with. He hoped Larry didn't mind him being out another Saturday with his father.

          "Sheldon, I want to ask you something."

          "Sure," the boy answered eagerly. His father’s voice sounded serious.

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

          "I wanted to." How could the boy not tell his father the real truth? After all...he was Sheldon's father.

          "I'm really glad you said that, because I didn't think you enjoyed yourself last week. And I want our outings to be fun."

          Oh boy, Sheldon thought. Now we're really getting personal. "Its cool," he added out loud.

          "Does that mean, good?" the man asked.

          "Yah."

          " I guess my idea wasn't so bad after all."

          "What's that?"

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

          "Oh yeah?"

          "Getting out together. Knowing each other better. You know what I mean?" His dad seemed so earnest.

          "Sure."

          "You're my Saturday Boy," his father added. "Because we only get together on Saturdays."

          Sheldon wasn't sure if that was supposed to be funny or not. Well at least he wasn't grouchy or criticizing him or anything. He sat back and took a good look at his father. This dude turned his whole world upside down three years ago. Seems more like a million. Without your own dad life was like an adventure novel with scary twists and turns.

          "Why didn't you write me?" the boy suddenly asked. There he said it. It just slipped out. The question sat on Sheldon's mind since his father came back into his life. "Or phone? Why didn't you phone? Not once, even."

          Sheldon wanted to make sure his father didn't forget about the past. And the way Sheldon and his mom were treated.

          The man seemed surprised by the intensity of his son's questions. His little man had indeed grown up.

          Sheldon tried not to chew his nails. Or scratch. His father sat watching him. Sheldon knew his father was really thinking about what he had asked. The boy did look like him a little. Almost like a reflection from a mirror. They could almost pass as twins now, couldn't they?

          Except his father wore glasses. And he didn't have any freckles.

          "Do you want to steer?" his father asked.

          "This car?"

          "Sure."

          "Really?" Sheldon could hardly believe his ears. "Alright. How?" And he reached for the automatic floor shift.

          "No, not yet. All you'll really do is steer. For now, OK?"

          It wasn't long before Sheldon got the hang of it. His father kept his left hand on the steering wheel while Sheldon leaned close, placing both hands on the wheel. He could feel his father's heart pounding, against his side.

          Then his father put his right arm around Sheldon's shoulder. It felt warm. Sheldon liked that a lot. He concentrated on his steering.

          "How am I doing?" he asked.

          "Fine."

          The road twisted and turned for about two miles. They stopped and got out a couple of times and checked the stream for any good fishing 'holes.' The stream scraped back and forth across the road. No luck with the 'brookies.' The creek was too low.

          "Not enough rain," father said.

          "Are 'speckled' trout and 'brookies' the same?" Sheldon asked.

          "Yes," his father said quietly.

          Sheldon steered towards a wooden culvert sticking out of the road. His father was really happy when Sheldon spotted some nails. They could have caused a flat tire.

          His father got out and banged them flat with a rock. "Thanks." he said, looking at his son solemnly. Sheldon knew his father heard his question, about why he hadn't sent any letters. It was just taking a while for the answer to come.

Sheldon tried to make it a little easier for him.

          "You know," he said, "I'm glad I came." Sheldon turned away quickly, before his father could see his eyes were wet. They finally stopped and parked in a clearing. Sheldon brought out the picnic basket mom had prepared.

          After juice, sandwiches and cookies, they hiked down the trail. Then fished the creek trying out their luck. Sheldon held onto his father's shoulder a few times for balance, as they descended a hill. The sun was warm as they walked into the deep