by Joel Arnold
Vince soon arrived in his parents’ green mini-van. It slid to a stop on top of our boulevard.
I lugged my stuff down to the van. “Nice driving,” I said.
He revved the engine. “Least I got a license.”
“Just hope my folks aren’t watching.” I hopped in and jerked the door shut.
The wheels spun, flinging snow into the air as he rocked the van off the boulevard. He looked at me with his eyebrows raised.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, easing onto the road. He took his hands off the wheel and said, “Take over.”
“What? No way.”
“Come on, take the wheel.”
“Put your hands back!”
“How are you going to learn how to drive without proper training?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Take the wheel.”
We hit a clump of hard-packed snow and veered toward a parked car.
“Damn it!” I grabbed the wheel, and turned it quickly toward me, straightening us out. “Put your hands back on the wheel.”
He uncrossed his arms and took back the wheel. “You should learn from the best.”
“And who would that be?”
He smiled.
We passed his house.
“Did you forget where you live?” I asked.
That look reappeared on his face – the raised eyebrows, the creepy grin.
“What?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “I asked myself why waste a perfectly good winter weekend watching cheesy movies when we can have a real adventure?”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me. What do you mean by a real adventure?”
“Remember when I told you I took a winter survival course with my dad last year?”
“Yeah?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Like I said, it’s a perfectly good winter weekend, so why let it go to waste?”
I didn’t like where this was going. “What are you saying, exactly?”
“I’m saying, instead of a regular sleepover, we’re camping. Building an igloo. Living like Eskimos for a couple days.”
Now I looked at him like he was the idiot. “You’re joking, right?”
“Take a look in back,” he said.
I turned and looked in the back of the van. For some reason I’d missed the cooler and the cross-country skies, the Coleman lantern, and the two sub-zero sleeping bags.
“No,” I said. “I can’t do this. My parents would not go for this.”
“That’s why we’re not telling them.”
“But what if something happens to us?”
“Like what? It’s the Nerstrand Woods, not Antarctica.”
The Nerstrand Woods was a state park thirty miles north and west of us. “It’s closed in the winter.”
“State parks never close. They just can’t afford to have anyone work there in the winter. So we don’t even have to pay to get in.”
He looked at me as if he’d just told me I’d won the lottery.
“Come on. Turn around,” I said. Sleeping out in the cold in an igloo held as much appeal as eating a handful of toenails. “What about my dad?” I said, trying to think of something – anything – to get him to stop this nonsense. “You know he’ll call. He always does.”
Vince’s grin grew wider. He sunk his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a cell-phone. “You call him first,” he said, waving it like a doggy treat.
“Your dad left it behind?”
“He always leaves it behind.”
I sighed. No more beating around the bush. “I don’t want to sleep out in the cold. I don’t enjoy sleeping out in the cold.” I shrugged. “I’d rather French kiss a blowfish.”
Vince glanced at me and shook his head, as if dealing with a petulant child. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” he said. “If you’d ever camped in the winter, and spoke from actual experience, I’d cut you some slack. But since I know for a fact that your folks are a couple pussies who think canoeing on Rainbow Lake is too dangerous, I know you’ve never camped outside of a Holiday Inn. So don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it when you’ve never even tried it.”
I sucked cold air in through my teeth. Vince had this way about him that at some point, you just knew there was no way you were going to win with him. We had come to that point. Still, I made one last attempt.
“Vince,” I said, although it sounded much more like a whine than I intended it to.
“Tommy,” he answered, throwing the whiny voice back at me. “Come on. Trust me on this. I know what I’m doing. Dad and I learned how to make an igloo as cozy as the skin under your grandma’s tits.”
“Not funny.”
“Besides, if you really are miserable and cold and don’t like it, we can always pack up our stuff, hop in the van, and come back home to watch Nightmare on Friday the 13th Street or whatever. Okay?”
I knew any more reasoning with him was pointless, so I leaned back in my seat and watched the snow-covered farmland pass by.
“We’ll have fun,” Vince said, that dumb-ass grin spreading across his face like the plague. “Trust me.”
Chapter 5
The truth is, I should’ve seen this coming. If not camping in an igloo, then something. Last time Vince’s parents were gone and I stayed over, we each drank a pot of coffee and wandered around the neighborhood at two in the morning, tossing lit firecrackers through the sewer grates, into mailboxes and downspouts. Unfortunately, we weren’t as crafty as we thought we were. Three separate neighbors saw us, recognized us and called the police. Our parents were woken when the cops returned us home, but where Vince’s mom and dad thought it was just a “boy thing,” my parents were sure I was headed down a path that would lead to the state penitentiary by the time I was eighteen. My folks just didn’t seem to get that there was more to life than school, work, television and a good pot roast.
We drove on a snow-packed two-lane road past farmhouses and restless cows. Vince looked huge propped up in the driver’s seat.
“How did you get to be so big?” I asked, still in a pissy mood from the change of plans.
“Big?”
“Yeah. I mean, your mom and dad – no offense, but if you ate them for breakfast, you’d probably still have room left over for Lucky Charms.”
“You’re saying they’re small?”
I shrugged.
“You’re insulting my parents?”
“No. I’m just saying – ”
“You’re saying my mom slept with the milkman? The mailman?”
“No. It’s just that – ”
“Come on, pull your foot out of your mouth.”
“It’s just that you’re big, and they’re both so small. That’s all. Just an observation.”
“Okay, Einstein, tell me this. You’ve got a decent looking dad, a really hot mom – ”
“I can see where this is going…”
“ – so why is it you’re so ugly?”
“You think my mom is hot? You’re making me sick.”
“If you’re going to be sick, do it outside so I can whack off – you know, thinking about your mom and all.”
“Ugh!” I laughed, nearly choking on my Juicy Fruit. That’s one of the things I liked about Vince – he’d say anything for a laugh.
The snow fell in big lazy flakes. Farmland turned to forest. The smell of pine seeped in through the vents. I took a deep breath of it. “This is pretty cool out here,” I admitted.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m still going to get in big-time trouble with my folks.”
Vince shrugged. “There are worse things that could happen.”
The passing trees thickened, their trunks dark amidst the snow-filled land, their branches weaving together, forming an impenetrable green wall.
There are worse things that could happen.
We’d soon find out how true Vince’s words were.
Chapter 6
Vince drove slo
wly past a small brown hut that marked the entry point to Nerstrand Woods. As Vince suspected, the place was deserted. I grabbed a map from an open Plexiglas case as we drove by.
“I love this cold,” Vince said. “I don’t know how I would’ve made it if I’d been born in Cambodia. I’d be sweating all the time.”
We drove further, passing the designated campsites.
“Now where are we going?” I asked.
Vince shook his head. “You didn’t think we were going to camp there, did you? That’s for pussies. What fun is it to camp next to a parked car? And an iron grill? And look – outhouses. Bet it smells up the place at night.”
I sighed. “If everything’s frozen, it wouldn’t smell.”
“That’s not the point,” Vince said. “The point is, if we’re going to camp, then let’s camp. The sites here are only one step away from staying at a resort.”
We stopped in the middle of the one-lane road briefly while Vince looked over the map. “Here we go,” he said. He looked up. “Keep your eyes peeled for a trail sign that says Little Crow Falls. Shouldn’t be much further.”
I soon spotted the sign. Vince pulled the mini-van into a small turn-out next to the trail-head. “Are you up for this?” he asked.
I gave him an are you freakin’ kidding me look, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he opened up the back of the van, and started yanking out gear and setting it in the snow. “Are you gonna help or just stand there?”
I reluctantly pulled a backpack out of the van.
“See? I took care of everything.” Vince smiled. “I even packed your crap for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “So are we going to set up here?”
He laughed. “Didn’t you notice the skis?”
“No.”
“You’ve skied before, right?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it skiing.”
A few weeks earlier during winter break, a foot of snow buried the town. Vince appeared at my door on skis. He had his dad’s pair strapped to his back. We skied around my block a few times. It took a little getting used to, but I ended up having fun.
This, however, was different.
“You want us to carry all this stuff on skis?”
“Give the man a cigar!”
“How about giving me a ride home?”
“Do you know what you need?” Vince asked.
“A hand job from Cathy Hader?”
“Hey!” He threw a chunk of snow at me. “No, what you need is some self-confidence.”
“Okay, pops.”
“Seriously. You’re always a glass-half-empty kind of guy.”
“That’s why the chicks dig me,” I joked.
“You always think the worst is going to happen, but it never does.” He stepped onto his skis, clamping them onto his boots. “You spend too much energy worrying.”
I placed my foot on a ski and it slid away. “That way, I’m never disappointed.”
“That’s no way to live, man.”
“Okay, dude,” I said.
“Even when you’re being a twit, you’re still a good guy.”
I wrestled my skis on and tested them before Vince loaded a pack onto my back.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got the heavy one.”
Chapter 7
At first I thought I’d never make it more than a hundred yards. The backpack seemed to press me into the snow with each glide-step I took. The weight felt weird on my back, the padded straps awkward on my shoulders. But I soon got used to the feel of it all and got into a rhythm moving my legs.
Push. Glide. Push. Glide.
“See?” Vince said. “Piece of cake.”
The cold air felt good. Fresh. The small thermometer attached to Vince’s zipper read fifteen degrees, and there was only a slight breeze. Vince broke trail, and I followed about ten feet behind in his tracks.
Push. Glide.
“How far are you planning on going?” I asked.
“To the end of the trail,” Vince said.
“How far is that?”
Vince laughed. “The less you know, the better.”
Push. Glide. Push.
“You do realize you’re in better shape than me,” I said.
“Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be much fun if you keeled over and I had to drag your ass the rest of the way. It’s only another mile or so.”
“That all?” I panted as sarcastically as I could.
It was pretty amazing to watch Vince ski, knowing he had an artificial leg. Especially realizing that he was actually holding back so that I could keep up with him. He’d once shown me his leg after an afternoon of jamming in my basement. He sat down on the couch and peeled up the denim cuff of his jeans.
“It’s a transtibial prothesis,” he said. “That means it’s for the fortunate gimps like me who only got their leg taken off below the knee. Makes things a lot easier; there’s a lot less pain and agony to go through when you still have your knee.”
The limb was covered with silicon that closely matched the color of his skin. He pulled the denim up further until I could see his real skin. He twisted the limb and pulled it off. I couldn’t help but stare for a moment at the nub where his leg had been severed.
“Kind of wild, ain’t it?” he said, grinning. He handed me the prosthesis. “See that top part where it attaches to my leg? That’s the liner. It needs to fit just right so it doesn’t hurt. Every once in a while if I twist in a certain way, it hurts like hell, but most of the time I hardly know it’s there.”
I held the limb up, examining it.
“See that part there?” he said, pointing to the ankle. “There’s a G.P.S. and odometer in there, in case anyone needs to track me down, and the shin opens up into a cell phone and digital camera.”
I looked up at him, my jaw hanging open. “You’re kidding me.”
He waited a moment before cracking into a big smile. “You believed me for half a second, though, didn’t you?”
“G.P.S. and camera my ass.”
“Give me back my leg.”
“I’m going to tell Cathy Hader you’ve been taking pictures up her dress with this thing.”
“The hell you will.”
“The hell I won’t.”
“Give me my leg.”
I waved it in front of him. “Where do you want it?”
He reached out and grabbed it, yanking it from my hands. “Don’t tempt me, Tommy. Don’t tempt me.” Chuckling, he lightly conked me on the head with it.
Push. Glide. Push.
“You’re doing great,” Vince called back to me over his shoulder.
“If I don’t make it, you’re not getting my drum set.”
“If you don’t make it, I’ll bury you under a snow drift and pretend I never knew you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem, Kemo Sabe.”
Push. Glide…
For a while, we skied in silence, listening to the soft sound of snow falling from thick pine trees. Every once in a while, a branch snapped, or a squirrel cussed us out.
Push…
Something started ringing.
I stopped mid-glide. “What’s that?” I asked, my heart racing.
Vince looked around, and then stopped. He took off a glove and reached into his pocket.
The cell phone.
He looked at the caller ID. “It’s your folks,” he said.
“Oh, great.”
“We just won’t answer it,” Vince said.
“No. We have to answer it.”
“You can call them back later.”
“Answer it,” I said.
He pushed a button and said, “Hello? This is Vince. Yeah, he’s here.”
I tried to force my breathing back to normal, then signaled Vince to hand me the phone.
“Hello?” I said.
My dad’s voice came through loud and clear. “What’s going on?” he asked.
I looked at Vince. “We’re watching a m
ovie.”
“You sound like you’re out of breath.”
“I was in the bathroom…ran up the stairs.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Let me speak to Mr. Nguyen.”
I looked at Vince. “Just a second.” I held the phone tight against my jacket, and whispered to Vince, “He wants to talk to your dad.”
Vince whispered back, “Tell him he’s not here.”
I spoke into the phone. “He’s not here right now.”
“What do you mean, he’s not there? What about Mrs. Nguyen?”
My mind grasped for an answer. “They’re at the grocery store. They’re getting us popcorn and pop and stuff.”
Dad breathed heavily through the phone. “Okay. Can you have them call me right when they get home?”
I wanted to drop face-first into the snow. “Okay.”
Dad sighed. “You know I don’t want you over there when his parents are gone.”
“They had to go to the grocery store,” I said again.
“Don’t drink too much pop. You need to get to sleep at a decent hour.”
I nodded eagerly at the phone, as if Dad could see me. “I know.”
“Don’t forget to have Mr. Nguyen call me.”
I winced. “Okay. I won’t.”
I turned off the phone and tossed it back to Vince. “Great,” I said. “What do I do now?”
“Nothing. We ski. Tomorrow tell him you forgot to call back.”
“He’ll call again in a couple hours.”
“We’ll deal with it then.” He pocketed the phone and glided forward. “You worry too much,” he said. “Let’s just hope you don’t have to drag me out of here. I’m guessing you really would leave me buried in a snow bank.”
Big sticky flakes landed in my eyelashes, melted and dripped in my eye and down my cheek like big tears. White birch trees stood nearly invisible against the snow, the black and brown knots on their trunks like the spots of a Dalmatian. Everything was quiet except for the shhhh shhhh of our skis and the snick snick snick of our poles in the snow. I imagined I was in a giant snow globe, the kind you shake up, the fake snow glittering over a tiny winter diorama.