Stormer’s Pass

by Benjamin Laskin

“Do you really want to know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She told me about a word.”

  “One word?”

  “A Greek word—aretê.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “There’s no direct English translation for it, but it means something like, excellence. It has to do, she said, with the developing of inborn capacities, the best of your human nature. The kind of perfection a person can achieve only by being truly oneself. See, the Greeks believed that everything in the universe has a purpose, and so every individual—being a part of the universe—must have one too. And an individual, through the education of his will, can attain his full range—his aretê.” He paused. “Am I boring you?”

  “No,” Katie answered quickly, embarrassed. “Not at all. It’s just that…”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you get so excited about an idea before.”

  Max shrugged.

  Katie regretted her choice of words, afraid that he thought she was mocking him. “I mean,” she clarified, “that’s pretty heavy stuff. Writing letters about that kind of thing. Why would a fifteen-year-old girl be interested in philosophy?”

  “She just is. Besides, she’s more mature than most adults I know. She has a lot of interesting ideas. I’ll let you read her letters if you want.”

  “Sure, if you don’t—”

  Katie’s girlfriends, Patty Kimball and April Jarrett, stumbled up and interrupted them. They were pretty and flighty, and they looked up to Katie in the same way Max’s friends did to him. The two girls clung drunkenly to each other and giggled excitedly. They were having more fun than they knew what to do with.

  “What are you guys doing?” April asked. “You look too serious. Don’t be so boring.” She grabbed Katie’s hand. “Come on, dance with us, Katie!”

  Katie looked up at Max apologetically.

  “Max,” Patty said, “be a good boyfriend and ask Katie to dance. Katie loves to dance, don’t you, Katie?”

  “We have the whole night to dance, Patty,” she said. “We can wait.”

  “Not you too,” April whined. “What’s with everybody?”

  “What do you mean?” Katie asked.

  “Regina said the same thing. She’s no fun either.”

  “Regina?” Katie said. “I haven’t seen her all night. Is she here?”

  “Over there,” Max said, pointing to the dark corner of the yard. “Talking to the guy with the hat.”

  Patty and April spewed into giggles at some private joke. Katie looked across the party to the other side of the yard. She saw Regina laughing. The large figure standing across from her was very animated. With a great sweep of his arm he pointed heavenwards, swung his hand above his head like he was going to lasso a star, squatted onto his haunches, sprang up, and then marched in place.

  Katie said, “Who’s that she’s talking to? And what is he doing?”

  “Don’t you know?” Max said. “That’s Walter. Looks like he’s warming up to run a marathon.”

  “Oh, April-l-l,” Patty trilled. “Look who’s coming…”

  April glanced behind, groaned, and threw her hands over her face. “Oh, gawd. Max,” she pleaded, “please tell Cheeks to quit following me. He’s been trying to talk to me all night.”

  “So?” Max said.

  “But I don’t want to talk to him!”

  “Why not? He’s a nice guy.”

  “No, he’s not,” she pouted. “He’s a pain.”

  Katie said, “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

  “I tried. He won’t listen. He doesn’t care. He’s demented or something.”

  “It’s too late,” Patty said.

  April shuddered and bared her teeth.

  “Sinclair,” Max said, extending his hand, “how ya doin’, buddy?”

  Sinclair “Cheeks” Goldberg—short, pudgy, red-haired and bespectacled—was as surprised as everyone else. No one but his mother called him by his real name. He withdrew his hand from the pocket of his baggy slacks and gave Max an uncertain handshake.

  “Fine, Max.” He cleared his throat, loosened his tie, and gave his stubby neck a stretch. “Katie…” he acknowledged, “Patty…April.”

  Max said, “What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d say hello. I don’t see you around much anymore.”

  “I’m around. Just busy, I guess.”

  “Sinclair?” Patty said. “Not you too. And who are you supposed to be?”

  “Sinclair is my real name,” Cheeks said. “It happens to mean the illustrious.”

  “Oh, really?” Patty scoffed. “Illustrious what?”

  “How did you know, Max?” Cheeks asked, ignoring the girls’ ridicule. “Teachers don’t even call me by that name.”

  “Aidos mentioned it once.”

  “Aidos?” Patty and April chirped in unison. “Who is this Aidos girl I keep hearing about?” April said indignantly. “Why don’t I know her?”

  “Why should you?” Cheeks said.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” April said, folding her arms.

  “I was insinuating that you’re stuck up,” Cheeks said.

  “I am not stuck up, you little grunt. Am I, Patty?”

  Patty laughed. “Of course, you are.”

  “Patty!”

  Patty shrugged and then took a big swig of beer from the bottle dangling in her hand.

  “Okay,” April said, “so I’m stuck up. We both are. So what!” She laughed unabashedly, grabbed the bottle from Patty’s lips, and took a big swig.

  “Come on, April,” Patty said, throwing her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go talk to Dawn and Brandon. They’ll dance with us.”

  Cheeks said, “You want to dance? I’ll dance with you.”

  Patty and April exchanged looks of disbelief. “You just called me stuck up,” April said.

  “And you admitted it. Big deal. I don’t care. I believe that under your snotty facade is a nice, and maybe even charming person. You don’t know it yet, April Penelope Jarrett, but you’re nuts about me.”

  April screamed in horror. “You’re so weird!”

  Patty and April ran away.

  Cheeks turned to Max and shrugged.

  Max chuckled. “Maybe you’re just too man for her,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Cheeks said. “Maybe it’ll get better once I’m in college.” He took off his round, wire-rimmed glasses and polished them on his tie. “Yeah,” he mooned, “college girls. I can’t wait.” He put his glasses back on. “But Katie here, she’s mature. You are, Katie. But of course you’re already taken.”

  “Yes,” Katie said regretfully, putting her arm around Max. “The big lug got to me first. Maybe if you and I had met in another place at another time—”

  “Oh, please,” Cheeks groaned. “Don’t get me dreaming!”

  “What do you see in April, anyway?” Katie asked. “She’s hardly your type. I mean she’s—”

  “A bimbo,” Cheeks said. “I know. But you have to understand that behind these glasses and my superior intellect lurks a wild and ravenous wolf.” Sinclair bounced his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. “April has great bimbos.”

  Katie and Max burst out laughing.

  “See you two later,” Cheeks said. “I’ve got some prowling to do.”

  “Wait a second,” Max said. “Who’s that Walter guy talking to Regina? Do I know him?”

  “You mean Steve?”

  “Steve?” Max looked again. “I thought so, but everyone keeps telling me it’s some guy named Walter. Why is everyone calling him Walter?”

  “Because he’s got this crazy notion in his head that he wants to be a poet. He thinks he’s Walt Whitman. Can you believe that? The guy has flipped. He spends all his time reading and writing poetry. That’s how he got Regina to go to the prom with him. He wrote her a poem. She thought it was—gag—sweet!”

  “It is sweet,” Katie said.

  �
�Whatever,” Cheeks said. “He showed me a picture of Whitman wearing this old, floppy leather hat and said that while cleaning out the attic as punishment for ditching school, he came across one just like it. It belonged to his grandfather.”

  “Come on, Katie,” Max said. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “You go. I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll see you in a bit.” She reached up on her toes and gave him a kiss. “Come on, Sinclair,” she said, grabbing his tie and yanking him away. “I’ll fix you a weenie.” She winked at him and his freckled face went up in flames.

  28

  Dark Horses

  Max snuck up behind Steve and snatched the hat off his head, setting it on his own. Steve wheeled, his hand on his head. “It’s you,” he said, relieved.

  “Nice hat. How does it look?” Max struck a debonair pose.

  “I like hats on men,” Regina said. “Can I try it on?”

  Max handed her the hat. It was too big for her, but she pulled the large brim down over one eye and tilted it just so. The boys flashed OK’s with their hands and nodded approvingly.

  Regina Brodie was tall and slender, with long, light brown hair, high cheekbones, and mocha-colored eyes. She wore no makeup and never bothered to hide her cowgirl roots. Regina’s family was among the original founders of Pinecrest, having settled there when it was a small logging town. The rugged, mountaineering spirit still lived within her. Her father, Jason Brodie, had made a small fortune in the feed industry, supplying all the ranches and farms along the mountain ridge. Although respected as a man of integrity, he was mocked for his unsympathetic views on progress and the town’s mushrooming tourist industry, which he considered a curse. Jason Brodie regularly used his booming voice to lash out against the town’s rapid expansion. He had lost more and more clout every year, until the name Jason Brodie had become something of a town joke, and the man, an exasperating nuisance.

  Regina was a dutiful daughter and full of the Brodie pride, but that didn’t stop her from being Katie’s best friend, whose father was the number one proponent of everything Jason Brodie despised. Regina had no brothers or sisters, and she didn’t care to take over her father’s successful business—her only point of contention with her dad. Regina wanted to go to college and study music. She played the guitar, piano and violin, and loved both country and classical music, but the only outlet in town for her talents was The Pinecrest High Marching Band.

  “Where have you been, Walter?” Max asked, smiling.

  Steve rolled his eyes, embarrassed. “You know these guys, they’ll tease you about anything. They can mock me if they have to, but I don’t care.”

  “I doubt Whitman gave much of a crap what others thought of him either,” Max said.

  Steve said, “Know what he’d say?”

  “What?”

  Steve cleared his throat and placed his hat back on his head. He recited:

  “I know I am august,

  I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,

  I see that the elementary laws never apologize,

  I exist as I am, that is enough,

  If no other in the world be aware I sit content,

  And if each and all be aware I sit content…”

  Regina applauded. “He memorized it on his own too,” she boasted. “Nobody made him.”

  “I’m impressed,” Max said.

  “Yeah?” Steve said, tipping his hat. “Me too. I’m going to memorize the entire poem.”

  Regina said, “I’m going for a beer. Want one?”

  Both boys said no thanks and she turned and skipped off.

  “You really like her, don’t you?” Max said, seeing the adoration in his eyes.

  Steve nodded. “I can talk to her about anything. She’s—”

  “No need to explain,” Max said. “Regina and I have been friends since we were kids.”

  “So how come you two never…you know, got together?”

  “Oh, I tried once, but she gave me the Heisman.” Max struck the straight-arming pose of the Heisman trophy.

  “You?” Steve said, incredulous.

  “She said I wasn’t her type.” Max grinned. “That shows you what a smart gal she is.”

  Steve turned suddenly thoughtful. “Hey, Max…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you ever think that we’re just kidding ourselves?”

  “About what?”

  “You know, about becoming poets and philosophers?”

  Max didn’t answer right away. He knew the doubts and sense of futility that his friend was feeling. It was hard to keep the faith, hard to sustain the enthusiasm.

  “I don’t know. But whatever we do in life we run that risk, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, but how do you know if you’re even on the right track? How do you know you aren’t just making a complete ass out of yourself?”

  “We don’t, do we? But isn’t that where the adventure is? The freedom and the fun too? We’re experiments, Steve—inventions in the making. We can’t expect anyone to take us seriously, or to even give a rat’s ass about what we’re doing. Hell, why should they? It’s a lesson in self-trust, Steve. We can trust ourselves to be mediocre. No sweat there. But can we believe in ourselves enough to be something more? Faith and trust come hard and take time.”

  “I guess what I’m saying is that I expect some kind of results or something.”

  “Forget about results,” Max said. “We’re heading into terra incognita, unknown territory. Aidos told me that there are many things we can’t see or understand now because we lack the necessary knowledge and experience; that we see what we’re ready to see; know what we’re ready to know. She called it, ‘adaequatio.’ She said that the more we learn, the more we do, the greater our field of vision and understanding will become. We have to consider ourselves in the right direction, trust that we’ll make the right choices when the times for choosing come—because we want to—and keep an open mind. It’s hard, yeah, but as Spinoza said—”

  “Who?”

  “Spinoza. A 17th century Dutch philosopher. A very cool guy. Anyway, he said that everything excellent is as difficult as it is rare. I think that’s true. Our biggest enemy is doubt. Doubt is potent stuff. A drop of it can neutralize an ocean of faith. I doubt, therefore I am naught.” Max chuckled, pleased by his pun.

  “Hey, you guys! What are you doing? Everyone’s getting ready to leave now.”

  It was Randy and Cheeks. The booming voice belonged to the otherwise mild-mannered Randy. Due to the amplifying effects of five cups of spiked punch, he had become a staggering bullhorn.

  “Come on, you guys,” Randy said. “The dance only lasts till midnight and it’s already—” Randy stared dumbly at his wrist. “Hey, who stole my watch?”

  “Nobody stole your stupid watch, you stupid drunk,” Cheeks scolded. “You put it in your pocket after you dropped it into the punch bowl, remember? Sheesh…”

  “Oh, yeah. Heh, heh…”

  “Now quit babbling and tell Max what it is that you think warrants your drunken interruption.”

  Randy burped. “I am not grunk.”

  “Speak,” Sinclair commanded.

  “Hey, Max?”

  “Yeah, Randy.”

  “Congratulations! It’s really great, don’t you think?”

  “Thanks a lot, Randy. Cheeks, what’s he talking about?”

  “Beats me. He just dragged me over here saying he had something important to tell you. Randy, clarify.”

  “Football!” Randy blurted. “It was in this morning’s paper. The Times. Gil Bixler!”

  “Who?” Cheeks said.

  “Don’t you know anything, Cheeks?” Randy said. “Gil Bixler, only the biggest sports columnist in the state. He wrote an article about Max. Our Max. This Max! He really thinks you’re something, Max.”

  Steve said, “How would a guy like that know Max?”

  “He said he was passing through Pinecrest last year and his car
broke down. The mechanic said it would take a few hours to fix and suggested that Bixler take in the Panther football game that happened to be going on down the road. Having nothing better to do he went to check it out. He wrote that he was expecting a good laugh, but then found his eyes glued to the Pinecrest quarterback, Max Stormer. That’s you, Max! He was really impressed. That was the last home game of the season against Stillwoods, when you threw for like a bazillion yards. He said he thinks our little town is going to be a real dark horse next season, and that you’re gonna lead our team to a state championship. Cool, isn’t it?”

  “Because of me?” Max said, surprised.

  “Not just you. He mentioned Steve and Brandon and Mike and Sid, too. He called the Pinecrest Panthers a freak of nature.”

  “How flattering,” Cheeks said.

  “Yeah,” Randy continued. “He said that it’s just not natural that such a small town could produce so many talented players at the same time, but that he saw you guys play and that he can’t wait for next season. Don’t you think that’s great, Max? You’re gonna be famous! Boy, Pinecrest has never had a hero before. I know you can do it too. Man, is this gonna be a great year for Pinecrest, or what?!”

  29

  Everything Else

  Dear Aidos,

  Max here. Sorry it has taken me so long to answer your last letter. I’ve been really busy and things have been kind of crazy around here lately. I’m running the restaurant by myself these days. I don’t know what’s wrong with my mother, but she refuses to see a doctor. If she gets any worse I’m going to throw her over my shoulder and take her in myself.

  I enjoyed the prom. It was a good excuse for everyone to let loose—drink, flirt, and act like idiots. Randy had a tough night. First he threw up on Mr. Bannister, and then he got into a fight with a bunch of guys from another school who came to crash our dance. He’s got a lot of school pride. Steve and I found him getting kicked across the parking lot. A fight followed. It was five against two, but Steve counts for four, so I’d say it was pretty even. We had fun, and it made for a memorable evening. I have a sprained wrist as a memento to my stupidity. Luckily it’s my left, so I can still write and throw a football.