by LN Cronk
“Mike will get to come here with us next year,” Greg said.
“Maybe,” Laci said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Sometimes he has to miss a lot of stuff because of his dad.”
“I’ve never met his dad,” Greg said.
“He’s sick a lot.”
“Is that whose name I see on the prayer list at church all the time?” Greg asked, and Laci and I both nodded.
“What’s wrong with him?” Greg asked.
Laci and I looked at each other and hesitated.
“I’m not sure exactly,” I finally said. “Something with his kidneys maybe?”
“Or liver? Something like that,” Laci nodded. “All I know is that he’s been sick ever since I’ve known Mike.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It seems like he’s always going into the hospital, or just getting home from the hospital. You never see him outside or anything.”
“The only time I think I’ve ever seen him outside was at that birthday party Mike had with the clown when we were little,” Laci said, looking at me. “Remember?”
I nodded.
“He didn’t even stay for all of it,” I added. “He went back inside before it was over.”
“Can’t they do something for him?” Greg asked.
“I guess not,” I said. “Mike doesn’t seem to want to talk about it a lot . . .”
“So,” Laci finished, “we don’t ask.”
After Mr. White got back and informed us that no one was catching anything, Mrs. White called us in for dinner. I was really glad she’d been able to come along . . . we had lasagna.
After dinner we dragged our sleeping bags out onto the ice because the stars were so brilliant.
“There’s the Big Dipper,” Laci said, pointing.
“That’s the only constellation I know,” I said.
“It’s actually not a constellation,” Mr. White told me. “It’s an asterism.”
“A what?”
“An asterism. An asterism is a small group of stars that you can pick out easily . . . like the Big Dipper. It’s part of the constellation, Ursa Major.”
He tried to show us Ursa Major.
“Do you see it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Laci said. “Maybe.”
“It’s a lot easier to see asterisms,” Mr. White explained. “They can help you locate the different constellations.”
He spent over an hour with us showing us different asterisms and constellations and explaining how things would look different in the summer sky.
Greg’s mom finally stood up, said goodnight, and dragged her sleeping bag into the fish house she was sharing with Laci.
“Can we sleep out here tonight, Dad?” Greg asked.
“I guess if you want to . . .” he said. “I’m cold and tired though. I’m going back in where it’s warm.”
I was getting cold too, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Laci started doling out extra clothing from her duffle bag to Greg.
“Do you want to use my dad’s electric hunting socks?” she asked me.
“Laci,” I said. “I’m a member of the Polar Bear Club. Members of the Polar Bear Club do not wear electric socks.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied, snuggling into her mummy bag.
A few minutes later my teeth started chattering – nowhere near as hard as they had at the ski lodge, but hard enough that Laci and Greg could hear them and I couldn’t stop them.
“Propane hand warmer?” she asked, holding it up in front of me.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, snatching it from her.
“Look!” Laci cried. “A shooting star!”
“Actually,” Greg told her, “it’s a meteor–”
“Oh, shut up,” I said again.
We lay there quietly for a few moments.
“You know,” I said, clutching the hand warmer to my chest, “I don’t believe in wishes . . . but, if you were going to make one . . . what would you wish for?”
“That’s easy!” Laci answered. “I’d wish for–”
“And,” I interrupted, “you can’t wish for world peace or anything like that. It’s got to be something selfish.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have to think about that then. One of you guys go first.”
“Greg?”
“Well, I’m going to have to take a lot of hard math classes and stuff, so . . . I’ll wish for really good grades . . .”
“Wow!” I said. “World peace and good grades. And you two say that I’m no fun.”
“We don’t say that you’re no fun,” Greg corrected. “We say that you’re grumpy.”
“Can’t you think up something a little more interesting than good grades?” I asked. “Something materialistic . . . you know? Just for fun . . . sky’s the limit!”
“Okay,” Greg said. “I guess a Corvette.”
“Sky’s the limit, remember? How about a Ferrari?”
“Can it be red?”
“Sure.”
“Okay then,” he said. “A red Ferrari. Convertible though. I want my hair to be able to flow in the breeze . . .”
“Oh, brother. Okay . . . a red Ferrari. Laci? Did you think up something yet?”
“Yeah!” She said. “I’d have my own amusement park! I had so much fun at Six Flags!”
“Uhhhggg,” I moaned. “That was not fun.”
“What was wrong with Six Flags?”
“Don’t ask,” Greg replied. “What about you, Dave?”
“My own ski resort,” I said. “Now that was fun!” I didn’t tell them that my wish also included having the whole place to myself – just me and Samantha.
“You know,” Laci said, “about the ski trip. I’ve been thinking–”
“Oh, no . . .” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, no, what?” she demanded.
“Every time you say ‘I’ve been thinking,’ we wind up in a mess!”
“That is not true!” she said.
“What about last summer?” I asked her. She didn’t answer.
“What happened last summer?” Greg wanted to know.
“Nothing!” Laci snapped.
“Oh,” Greg said. “This sounds good. What happened?”
“Laci got this bright idea–” I started, but she cut me off.
“Shut up, David or I’ll take my hand warmer back.”
“Come get it!” I dared her.
“This sounds really good,” Greg said. “Come on, tell me.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I assured him, “I’m gonna tell you.”
Laci flopped over onto her stomach and buried her head into her pillow while I told him.
Laci had decided that our Sunday school needed to help out by visiting people at the local nursing home. She had also heard that there are people who bring trained therapy animals into nursing homes for the elderly to pet. According to Laci, elderly people who are able to pet animals on a regular basis live longer and are healthier and happier than those who don’t.
“Now, about this same time,” I told Greg, “Laci learned about a volunteer program at the animal shelter for dog walkers . . .”
“Oh, no . . .” Greg said. “Don’t tell me your Sunday school teacher went along with this?”
“Yup!” I said. “It was Ms. Tanya . . . you may have noticed that she’s not a Sunday school teacher anymore . . .”
“STOP IT!” Laci yelled into her pillow.
“So, anyway,” I continued, “we show up at the nursing home, and each of us has at least one dog on a leash . . .”
“Did the nursing home know you were coming?” Greg asked.
“Well, they knew we were coming, but I don’t think they knew about the dogs . . .”
“Yes they did!” Laci yelled into her pillow. “Yes they did! We told them we were bringing therapy dogs!”
“Oh! But, we weren’t bring
ing therapy dogs, were we Laci? We were bringing dogs that had been trapped in a five by ten cage for two weeks and probably hadn’t had twenty combined minutes of obedience school, weren’t we, Laci?”
I couldn’t tell if Laci was laughing or crying, but I plowed ahead.
“So anyway, the first thing that happens is that this huge Great Dane–”
“It was not a Great Dane,” Laci said, and I decided she was laughing.
“Okay, this HUGE mutt, plops its paws up on one of those medicine carts and scarfs down about thirty little paper cups full of pills. Then this nurse comes running over to us and two of the little dogs get their leashes around her ankles and she grabs at the cart to keep herself from falling and the whole thing turns over.”
Greg started laughing.
“Then there’s this old man sitting in a chair, and he starts poking at my dog with his cane and my dog grabs at it with his teeth and starts growling and pulling it . . .”
Greg was laughing hard now.
“And then Ashlyn’s dog slipped his collar off and took off down the hall and disappeared.”
“Did you ever find it?” Greg managed to ask.
“Yes, of course we found it,” Laci said. “Do you think we just left it there?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We found it all right. All we had to do was follow the shrieks of this old lady who was lying on her bed and trying to shoo him away with her remote control.”
“Happy?” Laci asked me after Greg and I had quit laughing quite so hard.
“Yeah . . .” I said. “Pretty happy. Thanks for asking.”
“Do you think you can stop laughing long enough to listen to what I was going to say now?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t think we should go on a ski trip next year.”
“What!?” I practically yelled. I definitely wasn’t laughing now. “Why in the world would you not want to go back there!? That was fun! You had fun too!”
“I did have fun,” she admitted. “A lot of fun. But, it’s not always about having fun . . .”
I sighed. I could almost tell where this was going.
“We spent a bunch of money going skiing,” she said. “I was thinking that we could earn the same amount of money next year and do something more important.”
“Whatcha got in mind?” Greg asked.
“I think we should go on a mission trip to Mexico,” she said.
“Do they eat dog there?” I asked. “Because we could stop by the animal shelter first . . .”
“No,” Greg said. “I think that’s Vietnam . . .”
“Come on, you guys . . . I’m serious,” Laci said. “We could do something really good . . . you know? Something that could have . . . eternal value.”
I sighed again. I already knew our ski trip for next year was off.
“What do you think?” she asked Greg. I don’t think she wanted to know what I thought.
“¡Vámonos!” Greg said.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“It’s Spanish for ‘let’s go’!”
“You speak Spanish?” Laci asked him.
“No,” he explained. “Charlotte watches Dora the Explorer all the time.”
When I woke up in the morning I was in our fish house. I vaguely remembered moving inside after even Laci’s electric socks had failed to warm me up. Greg was inside too, still sleeping. His dad was warming a pot of water on the stove.
“Instant coffee,” he asked, “or hot chocolate?”
No one had ever offered me coffee before . . . instant or otherwise.
“Um . . . coffee.”
He handed me a mug. It smelled really good. I took a sip.
“Uhg!” I said, trying not to spit it out.
“Cream and sugar?” he asked, smiling.
“Yes, please,” I said. I added about five tablespoons of sugar and some cream and stirred it with a spoon. I took another sip.
“Better?” Mr. White asked.
“Not really.”
“Want some hot chocolate?” he offered again.
“Yes, please.”
Greg stirred and stretched and sat up. His dad handed him some hot chocolate.
“You don’t like coffee either?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Greg said, rubbing his eyes. “My parents never let me try it.”
Mr. White winked at me and I smiled.
“What time did you boys come in?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Greg said. “I really don’t even remember coming in at all . . . Dave?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember coming in either.”
We looked at each other.
“You don’t suppose we left Laci out there all by herself – do you?” Greg said.
“Naw . . .” I answered, shaking my head.
“Are you sure?”
“Not really . . .”
We both jumped up and looked out the door. We didn’t see anything but ice.
“She must have gone in too,” I said.
“Either that or a bear dragged her off . . .”
“There aren’t any bears around here!” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure . . .”
“Why don’t you two act like gentlemen and go next door and make sure she got in safely?” Mr. White asked. We pulled on our jackets and walked to the other fish house. Greg knocked on the door.
“Come in . . .” Mrs. White called. Greg opened the door and we both peeked in, relieved to see Laci standing next to the stove, stirring something in a pot.
“Good morning,” Mrs. White said.
“Good morning,” we both answered. Then we sang in unison, “Good morning, Laci.”
She looked at us suspiciously.
“What’s up with you two?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, smiling.
“Just glad to see you,” Greg said. “That’s all.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re over here to mooch breakfast.”
“That would be good,” I nodded. “All we have next door is hot chocolate and coffee.”
“There’s coffee?” Mrs. White asked.
“It’s instant,” I warned her.
“Better than nothing,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She left and Laci spooned some oatmeal into bowls for all three of us.
“Hey Laci,” Greg said when we were finished. “Do you have some barrettes or something? My hair is really starting to get in my eyes.”
“Oh, brother,” I muttered.
She started digging around in a small duffle.
“Laci!” I said. “DO NOT give him barrettes! He CAN’T wear barrettes!”
“Relax,” Laci told me, pulling out a brush.
“Come here,” she told Greg. He scooted around until he was sitting in front of her with his back to her. She started brushing his hair.
“A guy who is comfortable with his masculinity can wear barrettes if he wants to,” Greg grinned at me.
“I’m not comfortable with your masculinity,” I replied.
“Oh, really?” he asked.
“Yeah, really.”
“Well let me ask you something then,” he said. “Which one of us is sitting here with a pretty girl running her hands through his hair?”
Laci giggled.
I hated it when I had to admit that he was right. I wondered briefly if Sam would want to run her fingers through my hair if I started letting it grow out.
“Here,” Laci told Greg. “Turn this way.”
She worked on his hair some more and finally patted him on the knee.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Dave on this one,” she said. “No barrettes. Even I think that would be a little too much.” She held a mirror up for him to look into. “Just tuck it behind your ears like this until it’s long enough for a ponytail.”
“How much longer is that going to take?” he asked her, turning his head and looking into the mirror.
“Probably by summer . . .”
“Oh, brother,” I said.
We took our poles back to the marina and rented ones called “tip-ups” instead. These consisted of two poles . . . one that lay across the hole and one that pointed down into the hole. When (and if) a fish were to bite, a bright red flag would pop up. You didn’t have to pay quite as much attention to the tip-ups as you did a regular pole with a bobber – that had gotten old pretty fast.
Even though we could get a lot further away from our poles and be able to tell if we had a bite, by lunchtime we were sick of doing that too. Mr. White said he would keep an eye on things and promised to let us know if a flag popped up. We headed off to the marina.
There were video games and a pool table inside the marina. I pushed quarters into the pool table before Laci could even protest.
“They rent ice skates here,” she said. “Let’s go ice skating!”
“No,” I said. “Ice skating is for girls.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “Come on, I don’t want to skate alone.”
“I want to play pool,” I told her. I hadn’t gotten to play since the swim complex had closed down at the end of the summer.
“Please,” she begged.
“Sorry.” I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d never ice skated before and I wasn’t about to try it now. “I’ve got to beat Greg at pool.”
She bit her lip. “What if I beat you at pool?”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.
“I’m serious,” she said. “What if I beat you at pool? Will you skate then?”
“What do I get if I win?” I asked.
She thought for a moment.
“I’ll join the Polar Bear Club,” she finally decided.
“How’re you going to do that?” I asked. “Everything’s frozen solid.”
“Well, then,” she said. “You can fill up buckets of water and I’ll lay down on the ice and you can dump freezing cold water on me.”
“How many buckets?”
She bit her lip and thought for another second.
“Three.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
Laci chalked up and Greg leaned against the wall and watched, an amused smile on his face.
“Ladies first,” I said.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not having you backing out because I got to break or something. You go first.”
“Fine.”
I broke and got nothing. Laci took her turn and got a solid in.
It was closer than I thought it would be and a lot closer than I wanted it to be. Laci had one ball left and mine were all gone. It was my turn and Laci’s ball was blocking the eight ball.