Ambushed

by Jill Williamson

  “It’s just a birthday party,” I said. “Couldn’t you send a card?”

  “This is more than a birthday party, man. Mr. S has been doing these for Gabe since he was fourteen.”

  “Oh-kay . . . you’re freaking me out. Where exactly are we going and will there be animal sacrifices involved?”

  Jake chuckled. “Funny. Naw, it’s like a . . . How can I put this? Like a mini men’s retreat.”

  Lukas leaned between our seats. “Like a church thing?”

  “Kind of,” Jake said. “But for us to be there for Gabe.”

  Oh. Yay. I suddenly felt as if I’d been duped into something. Mr. S had given me plenty of lectures since I’d known him. And “mini men’s retreat” sounded like a lecture party to me. Whee. “Why didn’t Mr. S just say that?”

  “Does it matter?” Jake asked. “Maybe he didn’t say cuz he knew you’d freak out and not come. Don’t tell me you’re freaking out?”

  “I’m good,” Lukas said.

  But I wasn’t so sure.

  The “Gabe becomes a man” lecture slam was held at a rustic camp center called Pine Canyon, an hour and a half north of LA in the middle of nowhere. Jake parked the truck, and we all got out. The place was pretty desolate. Sagebrush and dirt, just like every other SoCal mountain.

  Jake headed across the dirt parking lot toward a large cabin with windows all across the front. I followed, kicking up dust with every step. Lukas walked alongside me. It was chilly, but the clear sky promised a warm day.

  “So, what’d we get ourselves into here?” I asked Lukas.

  “Don’t know. If it gets bad, I’m not opposed to stealing Jake’s truck. We’d just need to snag his keys.”

  “Did you bring any hairspray?”

  “Ha ha. And no, I didn’t.”

  “Too bad.” Lukas was a ninja with an aerosol can in hand.

  We entered the cabin, which was a cafeteria of sorts filled with round tables. A window/counter on the left wall peeked into a kitchen.

  Gabe was sitting at a table with his dad, Wally, and Pastor Scott, the youth pastor at Cornerstone Christian. Pastor Muren—Nick’s dad, who was the head pastor at Cornerstone—sat nearby. Then five other old dudes I’d never seen before.

  “Hey! It’s our celebrity athlete,” Pastor Scott said.

  Yeah, that was me. Hometown celeb. Whoop whoop.

  “And that’s the last of them,” Mr. S said, smiling at us. He nodded toward the soda machines lining the right wall. “If you guys want to get yourself a drink, then join us at one of these tables, that would be great.”

  Would it? I wasn’t convinced. But I helped myself to a root beer, heavy on the ice. Lukas got a Pepsi and four straws, and we sat at an empty table behind Gabe’s.

  Mr. S stood up and clapped his hands together. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Many of you have been here from the start. You mean the world to Gabe, and I’m thrilled you took the time to attend this final celebration. I felt it was important to invite some of Gabe’s peers this time. With the exception of Jake, they’re all younger than he is, and this day will give him a chance to do for them a little of what you’ve done for him.”

  I wiped a drop of condensation off my cup, not sure I wanted to know what these old dudes had done for Gabe.

  “Spencer, Lukas, Wally . . . on Gabe’s fourteenth birthday we kidnapped him and brought him here. We put him through a host of challenges to mark the change in his life. Gabe became a man that day.”

  Wait. A guy was a man at fourteen? Since when?

  “Each year since, I’ve given him assignments,” Mr. S said. “On his fifteenth birthday, I asked him to write his own definition of what it meant to be a man. Gabe, will you share what you wrote?”

  “I call it the three Rs,” Gabe said from his seat. “A man is respectful to himself and others. He’s responsible for his words and actions. And he strives to be righteous in all he does.”

  “Amen,” Pastor Muren said.

  Yep, this was a church party. I raised my eyebrows at Lukas, who took a long drink from all four straws at once while Mr. S went on to explain how he had Gabe write his own dating rules. Then Gabe shared them with us.

  I’m not making this up, I swear. And it did explain why Gabe was president of the Prude Patrol and not just a member.

  “When he turned sixteen,” Mr. S said, “I wanted Gabe to learn to manage his own journey of faith and growth. So I asked him to discern where he was in his walk with Christ, what his weaknesses were, and come up with a plan to take care of his own needs. Will you tell everyone what you learned?”

  A loud slurping noise turned my attention to Lukas, who was finishing off his soda in style. I wasn’t the only one looking. Lukas had everyone’s attention. I stifled a laugh.

  “Sorry,” Lukas said, pushing his empty glass aside.

  “Go on, Gabe,” Mr. S said.

  “Okay, well, I made a list of my weaknesses, and Dad had me pick one to work on. So I picked isolation. Um . . . I’m pretty independent. But I learned from Pastor Muren that men need other men, and I wanted to work on that. So I started a small group called Brothers in Arms. It was me and Jake and Wally and Isaac.”

  Wait. Wally got to be in Gabe’s man club, but not me? I was ten times the man Wally was. The dude went into a panic attack whenever he touched dirt.

  “I also started a band this year,” Gabe said. “The small group is all like-minded guys who can hold each other accountable. But the band was just for fun. I thought it was important to spend time with different kinds of guys, not just the ones who thought like me.”

  “And how is all that going?” Mr. S asked.

  “Brothers in Arms sort of fell apart when Jake went to college. And I still need a bass player for the band.” Gabe looked at me.

  I chuckled. I was not playing in his band. “So I don’t think like you?”

  “No way,” Gabe said, grinning.

  Well, at least he was honest. And I didn’t want to be in Brothers in Arms, anyway, so there.

  “And that’s okay,” Mr. S said. “It’s important to learn how to get along with all types of people, but also to be bold enough to speak the truth when we feel our brother needs to hear it.”

  Gabe had spoken the truth to me way too many times.

  “Today we graduate Gabe into adulthood,” Mr. S said. “But to do that, he must act out the five attributes of manhood that I taught him years ago.”

  And on and on it went. The attributes of manhood were to serve others; to fight for what was right; to be a provider; to be a steward of time, money, and body; and to be a leader.

  Mr. S made Gabe do feats of manhood in front of us, like melt an ice cube in his fist and wash Pastor Muren’s feet—which I thought was hysterical.

  And what did feet washing have to do with being a man, anyway?

  Then Mr. S gave Gabe a purity ring, which he swore to wear as a sign of his commitment to his future wife. He said his household would serve and worship God with integrity and loyalty.

  For some reason, the way Gabe said all that, the tone he used, it gave me a chill. It was like he knew he’d have a family and already knew how things would roll in his place.

  The idea of me having my own family someday had never once crossed my mind.

  And so Gabe put the ring on the ring finger of his right hand and showed it to everyone, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. It was fat and shiny silver, with black writing that said, “Man of God” on one side and “True love waits” on the other.

  It was kind of cool. Not that I wanted one or anything.

  Then Mr. S went all Food Network and gave Gabe a paper sack. He had to go cook lunch for everyone using everything in the sack. The rest of us went outside where Mr. S had set up all kinds of competitions.

  There was wood chopping, target shooting with BB guns, darts, horseshoes, canoeing across the lake, and archery—that one looked so easy when Legolas did it in the movies, but trust me, it wasn’t.


  After the contests we all went back into the cabin and found the tables set with paper plates and plastic forks. Gabe served up some kind of vegetable pasta with a white sauce that was a little runny but tasted good. There was also peas, garlicky toast, and butterscotch pudding for desert.

  “There was a lot of milk and cream in that bag,” Gabe said, when he finally joined us to eat.

  “I wouldn’t have a clue how to make Alfredo sauce from scratch,” Lukas said.

  “I wouldn’t have a clue how to make if from a jar,” I said. But I was joking. I could heat a jar of sauce in the microwave, though I wasn’t sure how to cook noodles.

  When we’d all eaten, Mr. S had one final feat of manhood for Gabe. He had to answer the questions of those younger than him, which meant Lukas, Wally, and me.

  “What is the meaning of life?” I asked.

  A couple people chuckled, including Lukas.

  But Gabe said, “To ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ And to ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ ”

  Oh-kay. Didn’t see that coming.

  Wally asked most of the questions. He started out okay with questions like, “What is the purpose of all this manhood stuff?” and “Why does a guy need a manhood party?” But then his questions got weird like, “Do you think crying is a sign of weakness?” and “What’s your philosophy on homeschooling versus private Christian school versus public school?”

  Gabe kept up with him, though, answering each one like the well-trained Boy Scout he was.

  I wanted to ask something about sex, just because it would have been funny to make Gabe answer in front of his dad. But I wimped out.

  “Do you consider cooking and cleaning a woman’s work?” Lukas asked.

  “Nice one,” I said, giving Lukas a nod of approval.

  “No,” Gabe said. “In a marriage, if that’s what you mean, I think that stuff should be a team effort, unless my wife chose not to work and had more time. I guess it’s just something we’d figure out as a team. A wife is not a husband’s maid.”

  Then Lukas started asking sex questions, the gutsy punk. But he didn’t do it the way I’d wanted to. To embarrass Gabe. He was being serious.

  And Gabe answered seriously too.

  And Lukas kept asking.

  Talk about a Bermuda Triangle moment.

  “I get that guys shouldn’t pressure a girl to have sex,” Lukas said. “But what’s so bad about casual sex if the girl wants to? If it’s her idea?”

  I looked back to Gabe. Yeah, Mr. Boy Scout. What about that?

  “It doesn’t matter if the girl wants to,” Gabe said. “The Bible is clear that sexual immorality is wrong. And sex was never meant to be casual. In fact, casual sex is a lie that leaves nothing but regret. It’s two people using each other’s bodies. And God says our bodies are his temple. We’re not animals, you know. We can be self-controlled. It’s possible.”

  “So I’d have to tell her no?” Lukas asked, as if Gabe was borderline psychotic for even suggesting it.

  “Why not? A man can say no. He should. He should be the strong one, the responsible one. He should strive to protect any girl he meets and never look at her like she’s a target.”

  Target. Gee . . . where had I heard that before, Mr. S?

  “Spencer?”

  I jumped. Mr. S was staring at me. “What?”

  “There must be something you could ask Gabe.”

  “Uh . . .” I’d asked that meaning of life question. And I couldn’t think of anything else. Not even a joke. My brain was on manhood overload. “I’m going to take a rain check,” I said. “I need time to think of the perfect question.”

  “Okay, I like that,” Mr. S said, surprising me. “Gabe is leaving this place an adult. And as his friend, Spencer, you can always go to him with questions. And he can go to you.”

  Sure. Like Gabe would ever ask my advice on anything.

  After the Q&A, Mr. S prayed a big formal blessing over Gabe’s life, then gave him a copy of the prayer, framed. Odd. Then Mr. S asked us all to share stories about Gabe. That part was pretty fun, actually. It went on for about an hour. When we ran out of stories, Mr. S gave Gabe the floor, and he thanked everyone and said he felt ready to take on the world, no matter what tough decisions he might have to face. After that we all gathered around Gabe, and the old dudes prayed out loud.

  And then we were back in Jake’s truck, headed to LA.

  “So what’d you think?” Jake asked.

  “A little archaic,” I said, “and I’m still trying to imagine any scenario where I would tell a girl no.”

  Jake chuckled at that.

  But Lukas said, “Arianna Sloan.”

  “Eww. Okay, you got me,” I said.

  “Hey!” Jake glared at me, then at Lukas in his rearview mirror. “Don’t be mean.”

  “Sorry,” Lukas said. “I mean, it was cool and all, how all those guys came out to support Gabe. But my dad would never do anything like that. I mean, we talk and stuff and it’s good. But, I don’t know, our culture is different, I guess.”

  “How so?” Jake asked.

  “In Cuba, we flirt. We romance. We enjoy each other. We got to practice winning the ladies, because when we find the one we want to marry, we have to win her. And maybe there’s some other guy who wants her too. So I gotta be the best if I’m gonna win my woman’s heart, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know anything. I’d never won any girl for more than a week, and then it hadn’t even been my idea.

  Lukas and Jake kept talking about Cuban and American culture, but I tuned them out. My mind was filled with phrases they’d talked about today: defending the weak, being a provider, striving for excellence, honoring your commitments, being self-controlled, remaining accountable for your actions, having integrity, being loyal. And then Gabe’s three Rs: respectful, responsible, and righteous.

  I liked the sound of all that. I mean, who didn’t want to be a hero? I’d wear a Batman cape if I could, you know? But it just seemed way too hard. Impossible even.

  Still, as weird as the whole day was, I was a little jealous that Gabe’s dad had done all that for him, and for so many years. That he’d made such a big deal about him becoming a man.

  I’d be seventeen at the end of February. If Gabe had become a man at fourteen, did that mean Mr. S thought I wasn’t a kid anymore? And if I wasn’t a kid, was anyone going to tell me I was a man? Or was I just supposed to start acting like one?

  I didn’t have a clue.

  REPORT NUMBER: 4

  REPORT TITLE: I Take a Road Trip with My Grandma

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: I-10 Eastbound, Just Past Beaumont, California

  DATE AND TIME: Sunday, January 1, 2:44 p.m.

  GRANDMA AND I LEFT FOR ARIZONA after church on Sunday. The drive was looong! Since U of A was the real reason for this trip, we passed through Phoenix and headed for Tucson. We’d visit ASU on the way back, though they were just about last on my interest list.

  U of A had a “White Out” game against Stanford on Monday, and Coach Pasternack, an assistant coach at Arizona, said that was the best day to come. He said I wouldn’t get to talk to the head coach—Sean Miller—very much, but he’d get me a short meeting.

  When we got to Tucson, I texted Coach Pasternack, and he told me to join him the next morning at 8:00 a.m. for a short meeting with Coach Miller. I didn’t like having to meet the head coach before I even got a tour, but it was a game day, so I had to make the best of it.

  Grandma and I stayed the night in a Super 8 Motel and got up bright and early for my meeting. Though I’d done this before, it was my first time visiting one of the schools that had shown interest in me, and I was really nervous.

  We met Coach Pasternack outside the McHale Center. He was with Arizona guard Jordin Mayes, who had a chin beard that reminded me of C-Rok’s buddy Ant Trane.

  “Morning, Spencer,
” Coach Pasternack said, shaking my hand. “And you must be Alice Garmond.” He shook Grandma’s hand next. “Call me Coach P.”

  Jordin stuck out his hand next. “Jordin Mayes. It’s cool to meet you.”

  “Hey, yeah, you too.” I shook his hand. I was maybe an inch taller, which, for some reason, made me feel better. I deserved to be here. I needed to calm down.

  “We don’t have a lot of time this morning,” Coach P said, “so let’s get you in so you can talk to Coach Miller as long as possible.”

  “Do you need my profile and transcripts?” I asked.

  “Nope, your coach sent those in. And I gave them to Coach Miller last night, so he will have already reviewed them.”

  Coach P led us through the McHale Memorial Center, giving us a bit of a tour as we went. “We’ll show you the locker rooms on the way out.”

  “So you play point guard?” Jordin asked me.

  “Yeah, but I’m a combo guard. You like it here?”

  “Oh yeah. This is a great school. And the team is a family. We’re all really close.”

  Yeah, that’s what they all said. I wondered if it were actually true anywhere and how I’d be able to tell.

  We went straight to Coach Miller’s office. My heart felt like it had climbed down into my stomach and started a war. I wanted to impress these guys, but at the moment, I was too nervous to speak.

  Before I knew it, Grandma Alice and I were shaking Coach Miller’s hand. Coach P and Jordin said they’d wait outside, so it was just the three of us.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have much time today, Spencer,” Coach Miller said. “Thanks for meeting with me so early.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Were you able to see the campus yesterday?”

  “No, we got in late,” Grandma said.

  “We’re going to check it out today,” I added. “Before the game.”

  “It should be a good game. You looking into Stanford too? In fact, why don’t you tell me who else you’re talking to.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to remember what my coach had told me to say. “Uh, right now there’s a lot of interest, and I’m trying to figure out how real it all is, you know? I’ve talked to coaches at UCLA, California, Stanford, and Arizona State. Uh, my coach has also talked to Gonzaga and New Mexico, but I haven’t talked to them yet.”