Mr. Bailey could never refuse Mrs. Bailey anything, especially when she called him “love.” He and Charlotte covered themselves in long sleeves and bug spray and went back out into the night. The crunching of gravel under rubber as Mr. Bailey backed out of the driveway momentarily drowned out the sound of frogs singing in the ditches. As the rumble of the car faded into the distance, hundreds of slick green bodies again filled the darkness with frog-song.
COMING UP ON A SERIES OF SHORT SNIPPETS
LET’S KEEP THE CAMERA WORK TIGHT AND THE PACE QUICK
WE’LL TAKE FIVE TO REAPPLY BUG SPRAY AND THEN WE’RE ROLLIN’!
Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.
– William Feather
Lee let out an involuntary groan. Mosquitoes had bitten both his eyelids, and they were itchy and swollen. The urge to free up his hands and scratch the living daylights out of every part of his body was almost too much to bear.
“What’s the matter?” asked Rhonda, sounding frightened. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Lee. But he was far from fine. The cramps in his hands had gone past pain to a numb dullness he didn’t trust. If he couldn’t feel his hands, how would he know if he was still hanging on tight enough?
“Are you sure?” said Rhonda. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Relax, Ron. We haven’t been here for even close to twelve hours yet. I’ve broken harder and longer records than this.” Lee squeezed his eyes shut and tried with all his might to hold back another groan of pain.
If you wanna catch a big fish, son, you need desire and stubborn determination by the truckload.
– Frankindad McGillicuddy
CUT!
Santiago exploded out of the car when Gertrude opened the door and shot off into the blackness like a hound after a rabbit. “Hold on, girl!” said Gertrude, nearly tripping over the shin-high wire fence in the dark. “Wait for us!”
CUT!
“I think this is about where we found the bikes,” said Charlotte, peering into the glow cast by the headlights.
“Oh, it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” said Mr. Bailey, smiling to himself in the dark. “An hour ago, I was the worst old fuddy-duddy in the world for insisting on stopping.”
“Dad,” moaned Charlotte, “do you think you could stop using that word? Hey… there’s a car parked up there. And look! There’s people running!”
Mr. Bailey stopped smiling and assumed his serious “Police Constable” face.
“I think you should stay in the car, honey,” he said to Charlotte, as he jerked the car to a stop.
CUT!
Lee knew he was starting to get delirious now. He imagined he heard the bark of a dog. A dog that sounded just like Santiago. “Get a hold of yourself, Lee,” he whispered into the night. “This is no time for your imagination to make a fool out of you.”
CUT!
Agnes poked the back of the cab driver’s neck and told him for the tenth time to put his foot on the gas. “This is an emergency, young man. Don’t you understand?!” she shrieked.
Mr. Ronaldson tried to calm her. “Agnes, he’s going as fast as he—” But he let out an “Ouch!” instead of finishing. Agnes had her fingernails digging into his wrist. Reginald Ronaldson was almost glad his wife was away on business—if he’d been sandwiched between both women, he’d have two lacerated wrists by now.
“Look up ahead,” shouted Agnes, digging her nails in deeper. “There’s a couple of cars parked on the shoulder. And one of them’s a cop car! Oh, Lordy, my stomach is telling me there’s something awfully wrong here.”
CUT!
“Lee!” cried Rhonda, “Was that a bark I—”
“No, Ron, it’s just—” but the next yelp told him loud and clear that this was no trick of the imagination.
“Santiago?! Santi?” He couldn’t say another word, because the sound of his dog’s voice was sending tears down his mosquito-ravaged cheeks.
CUT!
Agnes went flying, “arse over teakettle” (as she liked to say), when she hit the wire fence, but Mr. Ronaldson pulled her up like a yo-yo and they ran like fiends to where a crowd was forming. Agnes saw Gertrude on her knees in the grass, holding a limp rag doll that just happened to be Lee. Slang had hold of God-knows-what on the end of a rope and was using every muscle in his body to pull it up out of what? … an old well, while Constable Bailey punched the numbers 911 into his cell phone. Mr. Ronaldson rushed to Slang’s side.
“She’s down there,” groaned Slang, pulling at the bucket. “There’s a girl at the bottom of the well.”
Mr. Ronaldson took hold of the rope and started hauling it out like it weighed two pounds. “Ron, girl, you okay, honey?” he called. “Are you all right, angel?!”
By now, Rhonda was blubbering again and they couldn’t understand much of what she said—something about “leg,” and “spider,” and “get me outa here!!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies
Emily Dickinson
Lee relaxed against the comfort of his mother’s strong arms and looked up into the stars. She was saying things to him, asking him questions, but, for the moment, words were nothing compared to the pull of the stars and the moon. His body felt the same way his arms once did after trudging home from the store with the Christmas grocery bags loaded with a twenty-five-pound turkey and two ten-pound bags of potatoes—when he finally put the bags down, his arms felt like they might float right up to the ceiling, regardless of what plans he might have for them. The same sensation filled him now. Lee felt that his body might float all the way to the moon if he let it.
By the time the paramedics arrived, Lee was feeling a little more anchored—back in the real world, where mosquitoes had no intention of letting him forget he had a body.
“Here, let’s put this blanket around him,” said one of the paramedics to Gertrude. Lee scratched at his swollen eyelids. Ouch. He asked Santiago to lick his face, and her gentle tongue made him remember how he used to believe that Santiago’s spit could cure him of anything, if necessary. The paramedic gently pulled Santiago away from Lee’s face, gave her a gentle pat on the rump—“you’re a beauty, aren’t you?”—and turned his attentions to Lee. He examined Lee’s eyes, checked his pulse, asked him some questions.
“How many fingers do you see? Are you injured anywhere? Have you had any food or water since this morning?” He whistled when he saw Lee’s raw hands and shoulder. “Mama Mia. How long have you been sitting there holding that bucket, buddy?”
“Close to twelve hours, I’m guessing,” croaked Lee.
“Good Lord, where did you find the strength?”
Lee winced as the paramedic applied ointment to his wounds and insect bites with kind and caring hands. Then the man smiled, tousled Lee’s hair, and asked if he felt strong enough to stand up and make it to the ambulance.
“I’m staying right here,” said Lee. “I’m not moving an inch till Rhonda’s out.”
Gertrude and Agnes hovered around him, touching his cheek, his forehead, rubbing his blanket-covered arms to keep him warm, whispering how brave he’d been, how amazing he was. Santiago rested her chin and one paw on Lee’s lap, as if to claim ownership. “This is my boy. This is the boy who loves me.”
Slang went missing for a minute or two, but came sprinting back from his car with the team shirt held between his hands like a victory flag. “You’re number one, kid,” he said, and just about gave Lee the usual punch in the shoulder before remembering it might not be such a good idea.
But then Lee saw an apparition that made him wonder if he was still in la-la-land after all. She appeared out of nowhere. Gorgeous Charlotte Bailey. Yep, I’m hallucinating, for sure, thought Lee, but he didn’t mind. Not one little bit. Lee noted that Charlotte looked even more gorgeous in
his hallucinations. Like an angel. She didn’t say a word. She just knelt down beside him, gave him a smile he would never forget, then took his hand and placed something in it. He looked down to find himself holding Charlotte’s purple hair ribbon—the one from his bicycle handlebar. “Hey!” he called, but Charlotte was already slipping back into the shadows. Mr. Bailey looked over his shoulder, but Charlotte gave Lee the “quiet” sign with one finger on her lips, and ran off in the direction of the car.
Just when I think that I’m alone
It seems there’s more of us at home
There’s a multitude of angels,
And they’re playing with my heart.
– Annie Lennox
Without love, what are we worth? Eighty-nine cents! Eighty-nine cents’ worth of chemicals, walking around lonely.
– Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lee guessed that Rhonda was just too tired to be cranky anymore, because she quietly cooperated with the rescue paramedic who first lowered himself into the well (Lee couldn’t figure out how a grown man and a girl could fit down a well together in the first place, let alone have enough room to get her rigged up in a harness), and as she was slowly lifted out, even her “ouches” were subdued. Her face looked like a pale, pale moon against the darkness as it rose out of the well, and, for once in her life, she appeared speechless.
Mr. Ronaldson fussed and cooed over her like she was a baby; in fact, that’s exactly what he called her every two seconds—“You okay, baby? Everything’s going to be all right, sugar baby. Come on, babes, we’re just about there.” Lee was surprised Rhonda didn’t bite her dad’s head off for calling her that in public. Instead, she just collapsed into his arms as soon as he was able to cradle her dangling body, harness and all. Lee went over to pat her on the shoulder, and she surprised him again by not only giving him a hug, but hanging on tight an extra second or two before letting go. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Ouch. Ow.”
Good thing it was dark. “Hey, anytime, Rhonda,” said Lee, blushing.
“My name’s not … Ow! Ouch!”
CHAPTER THIRTY
EVERYBODY READY?
OKAY, JUST RELAX
SOMEONE GET THE DOG TO STOP LICKING HER BUTT
GOOD. WE’RE LOOKING GOOD … ROLL TAPE
Lee stood before the lens of the television camera, trying not to grin from ear to ear, but he was having difficulty with the modesty thing. And why not? Wasn’t every day he stood in front of a local television camera for an interview. He fidgeted with Santiago’s leash as the news reporter spoke into the camera.
“Thirteen-year-old Lee Einstein McGillicuddy, of 933 Dorchester Avenue, received a special medal of honor, presented by Manitoba’s Lieutenant Governor at a ceremony held on the legislative grounds this morning. McGillicuddy spent a grueling twelve and a half hours averting certain catastrophe by preventing the fall of a rock-filled bucket, dangling above the body of a young girl trapped in an abandoned well. Eleven-year-old Rhonda Ronaldson had accidentally fallen into the well, sustaining a broken leg and mild concussion.
“Lee,” said the journalist, turning to Lee with the mike, “how does it feel to be a hero?”
“Well, I don’t know about heroism, Greg,” laughed Lee, “but I think I may have broken a world record for sustaining the most mosquito bites per square inch of exposed human flesh. I plan to look into it.”
Greg chuckled. “I understand you have a special interest in breaking records,” he said. “How do you plan to top this one?”
Lee grinned at Rhonda, who stood beside him, sporting a full leg cast and a couple of crutches. “I’m thinking of bouncing a basketball all the way to the North Pole with a team of reindeer tied to my butt,” he said. “And Rhonda here, she’s going to be my manager.”
Rhonda grabbed the mike from Greg and spoke into the camera. “For the record, my name’s not Rhonda, it’s Ron. And yeah, I’ll be selling tickets to the event. Ten bucks, if you’re interested.”
Greg smiled as he recovered the mike from Rhonda and spoke directly into the camera. “Inspired by this young duo’s indomitably bright spirit, this reporter, for one, intends to buy a ticket! This is Greg Stanley for WYG news. And now, over to you, Roger, for a close-up look at the weather.”
CUT!
Gertrude and Agnes stood off to the side, beaming, as only two proud mothers can. They watched as Lee joked with the cameraman after the interview and asked if he could hold the camera on his own shoulder, just to see how it felt. He winced as the camera came to rest on his scarred shoulder, but even then it felt good.
“It suits you!” joked the cameraman.
“I’d have to gain a few more pounds to carry around this mama,” said Lee, handing the heavy camera back.
“How much you weigh, anyway, kid? You’re the skinniest beanpole I’ve ever seen …”
Gertrude smiled at the two of them chatting and laughing. “Agnes,” she whispered, “your suggestion about the two of us giving the kid a gift to let him know we’re proud? I’ve think I’ve got an idea …”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.
Mark Twain
Santiago nuzzled her nose beneath the spread out Camcorder instructions that Lee had had his nose buried in for the last hour. Lee smiled, put the instruction booklet down on the back stoop, and gave his dog all the ear-scratching, tummy-rubbing attention she deserved.
“Let’s go inside, girl,” he said when the breeze began to chill. Santiago’s claws scrabbled against the wooden back steps as she scrambled to the door ahead of Lee, imagining the bedtime snack that awaited inside. Lee took one last look into the sky and panned the expanse of twinkling stars, using his fingers as a fake lens for the very last time. “Goodnight, Einstein,” he whispered. “Night, Dad.”
Goodnight, McGillicuddy!
– Albert
Buona notte, Señor McGillicuddy
– Leonardo da Vinci
Your stature reaches the sky, Lee. Star-kissed dreams, my friend.
– Emily
Night, Kid!
– Groucho
Good night, Master McGillicuddy.
– William Shakespeare
Goodnight, friend.
– Mark Twain
Kalinishta, Lee.
– Plato
Sweetest of Dreams, Lee.
– William Blake
Keep smiling, Lee.
– Charlie Chaplin
Bliss, Lee.
– Buddha
Keep your ears screwed on tight, Lee.
– Vincent
sleep your dreams / dream your sleep.
– e. e. cummings
Jo tau, Mista Ree!
– Confucius
You dared to take the road less traveled. You go, guy!!
– Robert Frost
Hit a homer in your dreams, McGillicuddy!
– Cornelius McGillicuddy
INTERVIEW WITH COLLEEN SYDOR
It’s a pretty obvious question but where did the idea for this intriguing story spring from?
I remember seeing an illustration once of a boy standing on the edge of a barn roof with outstretched arms on which he was wearing a large pair of homemade, rather suspect-looking wings. That picture stayed with me. It spoke of longing and a burning, youthful desire. It spoke about believing and “wanting” to the max. In The McGillicuddy Book of Personal Records, Lee knows that his personal records mania is only a stepping stone on the way to “becoming.” The fact that he doesn’t know exactly what that will be only serves to make him more tenacious and I find this a very positive and endearing character trait.
Lee and Rhonda are different ages and different genders; yet they have a strong, though unstated, friendship. Do you think this kind of relationship occurs a lot between boys and girls of these ages?
I think that in the general mainstream scheme of things, this kind
of relationship does not exist in great numbers (probably because of unspoken gender and age related rules and expectations). However, often kids are “thrown together,” for example as cousins or family friends or, as in the case of Lee, by proximity. Rhonda lives across the street from him. Since they’re both stubborn and independent, they gravitate toward one another and the friendship—albeit outwardly grudging— develops naturally.
Lee is in many ways a lone wolf. He doesn’t have a lot of friends his own age, and yet he has a strongly focused life, and doesn’t seem lonely. Do you think there are a lot of Lees in this world, who pursue their own interests without appearing to need companionship?
Yes. And I am one of them. That’s probably why I’m an author. I’m able to do my work for the most part by myself. It takes a lot of different kinds of people with different needs and inclinations to make the world tick. Sometimes I fall into the trap of feeling a little bad or “unusual” about not needing a large social network. Then I give my head a shake and paint a picture or write a story and know that I’ll surface when I’m ready. My friends are patient with me.
The McGillicuddy Book of Personal Records Page 14