“I know.”
“No, I mean, you really think you’re not good at anything?”
Silence for a count of ten. Lee finally spoke up. “I’ve gotta tell you something, Ron. ’Member I was telling you about Connie Mack?”
Rhonda went for the bait. “Who’s she?”
Lee groaned.
“I know, I know,” shot Rhonda, “the baseball nerd. What about him?”
Lee let out a long sigh. “You know I said he held the record for most games won in a lifetime?”
She didn’t answer.
“What I didn’t tell you,” choked Lee, “is that he also held the record for the most losses.”
“Wha …?”
“He just stayed with baseball way longer than any other manager. He may have had a lotta wins, but he had even more losses.” Lee closed his eyes. “Guess I was right after all, Ron. I deserve the stupid name.”
“Boo hoo.” Lee could hear her trying unsuccessfully to chuck a pebble out of the well. “What you’re forgetting to remember is that you’ve got as much piss ’n’ vinegar and bull-headed patience inside you as that old dude and his big dumb fish— heck, as stubborn Connie Mack, for that matter. You don’t think that’s worth something?” she said.
Lee thought for a while, and then he said: “Do you get good marks in school, Ron?”
“Could if I wanted to,” she said.
I’ll bet you could, thought Lee. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that, Ron?”
“Cryin’ out loud,” said Rhonda, “I am what I am. Now shut the heck up, and tell me the rest of that dumb story.”
I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam.
– Popeye the Sailorman
BRING IN SLANG FOR A SHORT SCENE
QUIET ON THE SET … AND ROLL!
Slang Kischuk raised his sunglasses over his eyebrows, reached over the back seat of his car, and raked around in the mess of books and garbage until he found what he was looking for—a brand new Eagles team soccer shirt with a bold McGillicuddy written on the back, and a number one on front. He looked it over, smoothed a few wrinkles with his hand, and smiled. He got out of his car and then jumped back in and took something from the glove compartment. He tossed the object up in the air and whistled as he walked up Lee’s front walk. Then he took the steps three at a time and rang the doorbell. He heard Gertrude’s voice through the screen door. “Door’s open, partner, come on in!”
Slang opened the screen door and stepped inside. He saw Gertrude wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, cutoff shorts and cowboy boots, and a tool belt around her waist. She was squatting in front of the television’s panel box with a screwdriver in her hand. She looked up. “Oh!” she slipped her screwdriver into the loop on her tool belt like a cowboy returning a gun to its holster. “Name’s Slang, isn’t it?” she said. “Just trying to repair the idiot box, here, Slang. Should be easy enough. Little bit of common sense is all you mostly need. Come on in! Take a load off! Know anything about these fool machines?”
Slang smiled and sat down on the couch. He gave an admiring whistle. “Beauty of a cowboy hat,” he said.
“Thanks for noticing,” said Gertrude. “It’s the real McCoy. Genuine Stetson. Get you a cold drink?”
“No, thanks, Mrs. McGillicuddy,” said Slang. “I just came by to give Lee this.” He held up the T-shirt. “Genuine Eagles T-shirt for the kid. The real McCoy. Is he around?”
“Well, isn’t that kind of you,” said Gertrude. “But no, the kid’s not around. I keep telling him to leave a note when he goes out, but he can’t seem to get in the habit. Haven’t a clue where he is, to tell you the truth.”
“Well, maybe you could give this to him when he gets home,” said Slang, handing over the T-shirt. “Oh, and this, too.” He tossed Gertrude a Mars Bar. “Just something I owe him,” he said with a wink. “He’ll know what it’s about.”
“Sure thing,” said Gertrude, opening the front door for Slang. “But are you sure you can trust me with this?” she said, waving the chocolate bar in the air.
Slang laughed. “Do your best,” he said.
I always do my best, sonny boy, thought Gertrude. Don’t you worry about that!
“Slang!” she called just before he ducked into his car. “Thanks for being so kind to Lee. You’re a gem!”
Slang smiled and gave Gertrude a wave before driving off.
Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind.
The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.
– Henry James
There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
– Dalai Lama
AND … CUT TO DOG
Santiago’s nose was burning now. Hot, hot, hot, it told her, as she turned onto her own street. Only thing is, that flea was back in her mind again, pestering her with the same old question— “What the heck were you supposed to tell Mom?” And then a clear picture of Lee sprang into her mind, and she could taste his sweet / salty freckles like she’d just licked him a second ago. She came bounding into the yard as Gertrude stood waving goodbye to Slang, and as she galloped toward Gertrude, Santiago remembered exactly what she’d come all this way to tell her. “Woof, woof!” Santiago barked— “Lee loves me again, Mom. He loves me!” Then she went straight to her food bowl, inhaled what was there, and curled up on Lee’s bed and went to sleep.
Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?
– A. A. Milne
“You can’t win ’em all”
– Connie Mack
CUT
WIDE SHOT OF DARKENING FIELD
CATCH LEE’S PROFILE AGAINST RISING MOON
The mind plays tricks on you. You play tricks back!
It’s like you’re unraveling a big cable knit sweater that someone keeps knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting …
– Pee Wee Herman
For a while, the panic and danger of the crisis had knocked everything else out of Lee’s head. But now, after hours of sitting, and aching, and feeling hopeless, his mind was ready to sock it to him again. Suddenly he was hyper aware of creepy sounds in the long grass—what kind of critters made their homes here, anyway? No doubt, ones with sharp little rodent teeth. Lee shivered. “Get it together, guy,” he whispered.
Soon the dark, gloomy feelings of the last couple of weeks started settling around him like a damp, gray army blanket. The sun was starting to set. The mosquitoes were coming out. And as much as he loved Santiago, he didn’t really know if she was up to the task. One thing for sure: He didn’t feel like listening to Rhonda’s voice anymore—and he sure as heck didn’t have the heart to tell her the rest of the Old Man story. I wish Santiago would get here, thought Lee, but what good does wishing ever do? Aaah, what the heck—Lee looked star-ward and whispered a string of words he felt way too old to be reciting: “Star light, star bright … yadda, yadda … I wish I may, I wish I might …”
Rhonda’s voice rudely broke his train of wishing.
“As long as there’s light at the top of this well,” she called, “I’ll be okay,”—the rest she barked like a threat—“but if I’m still down here when it gets dark, I’ll scream bloody murder, Lee, I really will.” In a more trembly voice, she added: “I couldn’t take it, Daddy. I just know it!”
“You won’t have to,” said Lee. “Santiago’s got what it takes. She’ll be on her way back right now. I can nearly smell her bad breath.” He wished he could believe what he was saying. He wished, he wished, he wi—Crud almighty, suddenly an earsplitting scream made him wish he’d been wearing earplugs.
“Aaaaaaaaaahh!! Lee!! You said there weren’t any spiders down here!! You promised!! Get off! EEEEEEEUUUUUUWWWWWW!! Get off me!! Ouch, my leg!!”
Lee nearly dropped the bucket. “Calm down, Rhonda. You just about gave me a friggin’ heart attack!”
“You to
ld me they couldn’t breathe down here. You said there wouldn’t be a single one of the ugly, hairy, disgusting, creepy, disgusting, creepy, scum-sucking, slime-bucket little monsters down here. You lied! You’re a big fat liar!” And then she really started to cry—blubber-style.
Lee couldn’t take it. “It’s going to be all right,” he lied.
Rhonda blurted words between sobs. “You’re going to be able to hang onto that bucket, aren’t you, Daddy? You’re not going to let it go, right? Tell me you’re not going to let it come down on me.” It was as if the spider had single-handedly (perhaps eight-handedly?) pulled the plug on all her fear.
Lee ached to give her some peace of mind. “Rhonda,” he said, piling it on thick, “it’s all gonna be okay. I promise. You have to believe me.” As he said it, a sense of cold panic spread through his veins and arteries, giving him a strong suspicion that throwing up was about to become an involuntary reflex. Lee swallowed hard.
“No one is coming, Lee,” sobbed Rhonda. “Face it. Your arms are going to give out sooner or la—”
“Now stop it right there, Rhonda! Do you have any idea who’s holding onto this bucket?!” He asked so forcefully that Rhonda actually asked the stupidest question of her life:
“Who?”
“Lee McGillicuddy, that’s who — only the most qualified person on the planet — Lee Bounce-A-Basketball-For-Twelve-Straight-Hours McGillicuddy — Mr. Patience himself.” He looked up into the sky. “Ever heard of a guy named Perseus, Ron?”
“No.”
Lee counted to ten.
“So, who is he?” she called with disgust.
“Beats me,” said Lee, “but he said a cool thing: ‘He conquers who endures.’ Well, I’ve got endurance comin’ out of my butt, Rhonda. I’m more stubborn than the Old Man, for crying out loud. Heck, I might as well be the Old Man.”
That little performance for Rhonda seemed to suck more energy from Lee than all the bucket-holding in the world. Crap, I’m tired. Soooo tired. Lee winced from the searing pain of the fishing line cutting trenches into the palms of his hands. Fishing line? Oh, God. That’s when Lee’s brain got just a tad discombobulated …
He settled comfortably against the wood and took his suffering as it came and the fish swam steadily and the boat moved slowly through the dark water.
“Fish,” he said softly aloud, “I’ll stay with you until I am dead.”
– Ernest Hemingway from The Old Man and the Sea
… Lee felt weirdly dizzy—seasick, almost. He looked at the rope in his hands and felt confused. What’s at the other end of this thing … a fifteen hundred pound—fish? … crap, am I the Old Man?!!
Lee closed his eyes and listened to the echo of his absurd question—am I? Dude, what’s happening to you? But the words were enough to make something click inside his brain—like a light bulb going on. Lee opened his eyes and saw, not a fishing line, but an old rope, holding a very heavy bucket. And then he looked at his bleeding hands—hands that might as well have belonged to Señor Santiago, the stubborn old “I’ll Die Before I Let Go Of This Doggone Rope” Man of the Sea.
Lee looked up into the stars that had suddenly become his brothers and his sisters (yes, Rhonda), and, of all things … he laughed—a weak but definite laugh that was only a tiny bit delirious. “Okay,” he called into the sky. “I get it. Sometimes I’m a little slow, but yeah, I get it now!”
“Lee! Who are you talking to?!” called Rhonda.
“Just the Great Director in the sky, Ron … you wouldn’t understand.”
“Great what?! Ouch! Lee, don’t tell me you’re turning nutcase on me. Please don’t tell me you’re losing it, cuz, like …”
“Don’t worry, Ron,” interrupted Lee. “I’ve never felt saner. Listen, what I was telling you before? It’s not just a bunch of hooey. It’s the truth! You couldn’t be in better hands if you tried. Don’t you see, Ron? Me and the Old Man, we’re tight. We’re made of the same damn stuff!” Lee smirked in the darkness. “Rhonda,” he called, “if you and I were actors in a movie right now, this would go down as the corniest thing ever produced, ya figure?”
“What? Daddy, I don’t know what kind of meltdown you’re having right now, but do you think you could have it some other ti—”
“Oh, crud!” shouted Lee “Angel wings!”
“Angel wings?!” cried Rhonda. “You’re seeing angels now? Great. How long till the little pink elephants show up?” Rhonda’s irritability was expanding like the inflated throat of a nearby bullfrog, tuning its instrument for the long night ahead.
Lee didn’t notice. He was too busy thinking about this morning’s Angel Wings e-mail: May you trust that you are exactly where you were meant to be … blah, blah, blah.
“Ron, if I tell you something, do you promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”
Too late, thought Rhonda.
“You know all those dumb marathon records I’ve been putting myself through for years? Do you think it’s possible they’ve been preparing me for this day … like, you know, training me for this exact moment?”
“Get a grip, Daddy—” said Rhonda, but Lee cut her off.
“No, really, think about it. If anyone can do this, it’s me. I could sit here holding onto this tonne-weight till next Christmas if I had to, even if my arms are like two squirts of Silly-String. I could pull Moby Dick across the ocean in a dinghy if I had to. I’ve got what it takes inside, Rhonda. I’m the one meant to be here holding on to this here rope.”
And that’s all it took. One little thought. One thought, the size of a matchstick, enough to re-ignite his pilot light.
Lee looked up into the stars. “Okay, I’m cool with the script,” he whispered. “Let’s go with it!”
“… Yeah, yeah,” mumbled Rhonda inside her echoing well. “You da man. You could bounce a basketball all the way to the North Pole with a team of reindeer tied to your butt if you had a mind to. Whatever. Just get me the heck out of this spider-infested hellhole.”
“What was that?” called Lee.
“I said, ‘You da man who’s meant to get me out of this wellhole!’”
Darn right, thought Lee.
Jeez, could it actually be that simple?
When the solution is simple, God is answering.
– Albert Einstein
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
9:14 PM
EXTERIOR OF AGNES’S KITCHEN
GET A SHOT OF THE OLD GAL THROUGH HER KITCHEN WINDOW, THEN FADE TO
THE INSIDE … ROLL ’EM
Agnes fussed around in the kitchen, re-wiping counters she’d already wiped a dozen times in the last hour. She felt like she had a jar sitting inside her stomach, filled with twenty-five angry hornets—all of them bumping against the glass and each other, knocking themselves out, buzzing their frenzied little brains out. Agnes went to the mirror to check her tongue. She knew it would look fine. This was no tummy bug—just a general uneasy feeling, like something was out of order in her universe.
She went and looked out the window for the tenth time that day, even though she had no idea what she was looking for. On the eleventh trip to the window, she saw Gertrude on her way over. Thank heaven. Someone to talk to.
“Hey, Ag,” said Gertrude, “I’m on my way to Shop Smart for some groceries. Anything you’re needing?”
“No thanks, Gert.” Then she changed her mind. “Then again,” she said, “maybe you could pick me up some ginger root. It’s good for settling the stomach.”
“Tummy troubles?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. Just nerves, I guess. Would you come in for some tea, Gertrude?”
“Thanks, but no. I want to be back before it gets too dark to do some weeding. I asked Lee to get at those dang dandelions this morning, but I might as well have been whistling into the wind. Guess that’s why he vamoosed so fast this morning … and didn’t come home for supper, come to think of it.”
Agnes stood on the front steps, watching Gertrude stride
down the walk. Suddenly Agnes’s mouth blew open. “Gert!”
Gertrude turned around. “What is it, Ag?”
“I’m not … sure … I …” Agnes didn’t finish her sentence. Just then, Slang’s car pulled up again. He got out and walked up to the two women. “Hey, I was just wondering, was that Lee’s dog I saw when I was leaving? ’Cause, like, it occurred to me that wherever Santiago is, Lee’s usually not far behind, and I’d like to catch him if …” Another sentence unfinished.
Gertrude put a firm hand on Slang’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, hon, but I need to go check on something.” He and Agnes watched as Gertrude hurried back to her house and came out a second later looking paler than usual.
“Strange,” she said. “Santiago’s leash is gone. That means Lee has it with him. In which case, why is Santiago here without …” Another sentence unfinished. They were interrupted by a loud bark coming from the open window of Gertrude’s screen door. Santiago had just woken from a bad dream, leaving her with a strange feeling like she’d done something very wrong. She wanted the security of her rhubarb leaves.
FADE TO LEE
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
– Japanese Proverb
And the itsy bitsy spider walked up the spout again.
– Unknown
Up, up and away!
– Superman
Lee’s spirits had been down for long enough. Too long. Time to get up. He almost felt he could literally stand up now and pull the bucket out of the well—with one hand, yet. And that’s exactly what he did. (Or tried to do.) Of course, the weight of the bucket told him pretty quick that he would do no such thing. In struggling to stand, Lee managed only to shift some more mortar, sending it chinking down on Rhonda.
The McGillicuddy Book of Personal Records Page 12