by Orca Various
I think about Little Red Riding Hood. How old is she—like 8 or 9? Just a kid. This wolf would take her and her gramma easy.
I have the ice off my skate blade now. I am shivering pretty good. I have to get out of here. My foot is soaked but I can still skate.
Bye bye! I say and start off slowly. The wolf moves in front of me. If I keep skating I will hit it so I stop. The wolf stares at me. I take off to the left thinking I can go around the wolf. It moves again. Without trying really hard it gets ahead of me. It can move faster than me. Its pads and claws work better than my tired legs and dull skates. But why is it doing this? Does it think we are playing a game?
Go away! I say.
Stupid wolf! I say.
The wolf looks at me and yawns wide then turns away and lifts a leg to pee.
I am not going to let this animal stop me. I have to get to the other side of the river. I head a bit left and so does the wolf. Then I push off hard as tho I am going to go farther left only I cut back insted. Its a fake—like I am playing hockey and the wolf is a defense man. I am past him! The wolf falls for my fake and there is only 1 more island befor I get to Canada.
I am heading a little to the rite of where I was befor but so what. The wolf is running 2 but he is not trying to get ahead of me any more. Now we are running in the same direction. What do they call that—paranormal? No thats a movie. Something like that. I know the word. I will think of it later. I keep an eye on the wolf and at the same time try to watch out for more holes in the ice.
Left. Glide. Deep breath. Rite. Glide.
Im tired and woozy from all I have been doing—getting in trouble and escaping and drinking that funny peach stuff and escaping again and freezing my leg—witch maybe xplains why I start to see things. Maybe I am getting sick. But I cant help what I see. The sky off to the left now has lines of ripples running across it. Rippling pink and green lites—what is that about? Am I crazy? And its brite out—almost as brite as day. I can see the wolf clearly. He has long legs and a thin body. Hes gray mostly with a black splotch on his sholder and another on his head like hes wearing a black scarf and hat. Have I said Im not afraid of the wolf? Thats not quite it. I dont think hes going to eat me but theres something about him. The way he lopes along kind of sideways. The way he checks me out and then shakes his head. We are still running parallel him and me. Thats the word—the same way but not touching. Hes tired like me. His mouth is open so he can pant. It looks like he is smiling at me. Does he like me or not? Not wuld be my gess.
The last island is small and roundish and it doesnt stick out of the ice very far. I pass close enuff to the island that I see the small green tree leaning over so far its branches are trapped in the ice. Shadowy and secret looking—and even more so in the pink and green lite.
Is it really pink and green? I blink. Yup.
I take a deep breath and get ready to head across the last bit of river. Thats when I see the jim bag—sorry gym bag. Its dark and its got handles and it is sitting in the shadows of the over hanging tree. I wuldnt of seen it if I had not been skating so close to the island. Huh I think. I dont want to grab it. Its probly yucky and I all ready have a gym bag. I take a stride toward shore and hear my name.
Bernard.
No mistaking—its as clear as clear. I stop short in a flurry of ice specks and look around. Nobody calls me Bernard. Spencer called me Bunny when he was a baby and it has been my name ever since.
Bernard.
There it is again. But theres no body around. Who is talking to me? The only person who ever called me Bernard was Grampa. He didnt like the name Bunny. I am used to hearing my name in Grampas voice and I do now. I gess its coming from inside me. I do feel kinda crazy come to think of it. Not bad or sick—just crazy. Bigger than normal if you know what I mean. My mood matches the sky witch is dancing with curtins of lite now.
Go and see Bernard.
Definitely Grampas voice but it is not coming from me. My mouth is shut—has been shut all along.
Grampa is that you? I say. Witch is stupid because it cant be Grampa. But who else sounds like him? Who else is around? Who else can I see? Just the wolf who has stopped running and is sitting down looking at me hard. He opens his mouth.
Yes Bernard says Grampas voice. The wolf closes his mouth.
Hoo boy.
SO I AM CRAZY.
Thats all I can think. Grampa can not be the wolf and he is not talking to me. I close my eyes tite. Maybe the wolf will be gone when I open them again.
Nope.
Hurry Bernard.
His mouth moves again. And now that I come to think of it the wolfs gray like Grampa. And thin like Grampa. And Grampa wore a dark hat. Oh well I think. I will have to get used to being crazy. Whatever. I am still feeling hi and lite and I am long past being weirded out.
Go and see said Grampa the wolf.
I am not sure of anything but I skate over to the gym bag. The ice is bumpy near the island. I look back.
Is this what you mean? I ask out loud.
The wolf yawns and ducks his head witch culd be a nod. Okay then. I pick up the gym bag. Its crappy and old and faded blu. The handles are cracked plastic. Inside is smelly—looks full of towels and stuff. I zip it back up fast.
Can we go now? I say.
I figure the wolf is coming with me. I dont try to change direction and lose him. I know I cant. We go together—me and Grampa the wolf.
I remember my cousins fiting about Grampa last week. Was it last week? Whenever. At the cottage when we found all his secret stuff. This may be a chance to ask him.
Were you really a spy back a long time ago? I ask the wolf. When you were flying around the world did you do stuff like James Bond? I ask.
The wolf looks at me. Does he nod again? I feel stupid but I keep on anyway.
Some guys think you have there anthem Grampa I say. Did you take it? Was that part of your spying? These same guys kid napped me. They are bad guys rite? Rite Grampa?
I dont know what I am asking. My problem is that I dont know who the good guys are. Kid napping is bad but so is stealing an anthem. Maybe Grampa was a bad guy. I dont know how you tell.
Also my problem is that I am talking to a wolf.
He doesnt answer.
Im getting close to the shore. My strokes are shorter and harder and my gliding is not as smooth. Its not as brite ether. A long ribbon of green pulls across the sky with a tail of sparks behind it. Theres a ripple and a flash—and then nothing. The sky show is over. The nite looks normal again as I glide the last few feet and step up onto the bank. This side of the river is flatter than the American side. I can walk up. The bag swings in my hand. Theres a road near the edge of the river. A pick up truck goes by. Head lites blaze for a second and then are gone. I pick my way over icy rocks so I dont wreck my skates any more than they are already wrecked.
Wreck is an other of Mr Wings w words.
Its the same stuff as across the river but it feels different to me. Trees and rocks and snow and snow. And ice. And snow. Canada. I am a long way from home but I am home.
Bernard.
The familiar voice is quiet but clear. The wolf stands in a clump of trees. The black cap on his gray head looks very much like Grampas beret.
Take care he says.
Whats happening now? I ask.
I have to go he says. Take care of whats in the bag and take care of yourself. Will you do that Bernard?
Wait I say. Dont go.
The wolf turns back to look at me over his sholder. I swear hes ticked off. A very Grampa look.
Will you do it? he asks. When I say yes he nods.
Thats your job he says. Do it. You are a good guy Bernard.
How did he know I was wondering about good guys and bad guys? But befor I can ask anything about him he leaps into the darkness and is gone.
Do your job. Thanks Grampa. Like I need telling. I know I have to call Spencer so he doesnt worry about me. And I have to get back to Creekside. Thes
e are my jobs.
I dont know about Grampa being a spy for the bad guys or the good guys. I asked but he didnt say. Is it my job to find out? I dont know how Id do it. Its the sort of thing DJ wuld be good at. Or Steve or Adam. These guys wuld have ideas. They wuld call people and go places and do things. Maybe Webb wuld have an idea. Or the new guy—I really shuld know his name—hes my cousin. Anyway I dont have any ideas at all.
Does Grampa care about spying any more? He seems pretty happy being a wolf. If that was him. And if it wasnt then Im crazy and Grampa is dead and he doesnt care about anything.
Do your job. OK I got it.
I dont know witch way to go so I pick left. I always pick left when I dont know. The road goes up hill to a bigger road and then I have to pick again. So I make another left and keep going. Skating is harder than it was. My blades are dull. Also there is ice on the side of the road but not in the middle. The plows have gone out. So I am having trouble keeping going.
The strange lites in the sky are gone. Were they real or part of a dream or those things you see when you are crazy sick?
Push left. Glide. Push rite. Glide.
Do your job still makes sense.
THE RIVER IS BESIDE ME AND THE MOON IN FRONT.
The road is more normal looking. The letters and number on the sines for instants. Beside the road there are posts with yellow reflecting things on the top. I didnt see those in the US. I shuld of known rite away that I wasnt in Canada. I must be even stupider than they say.
Theres nobody around—no cars or lites or houses. I totally can not find the north pointing star. I know its small and near the stars that look like a pail and I can not see that ether. I feel like I am looking thru the telly scope again and not seeing whatever it was Gally Layo saw. Moons? Moons. I dunno.
I am sick of carrying this crappy gym bag. One of the handles has broken and it is dangling from my hand. The wolf said to take care of the bag but hes not around. Hes probly not even real. Now that Ive escaped from Skrillex and Brady and Alex and Vi and Lubor and America—now that I am almost home—I figure I must of been dreaming when I talked to the wolf and thot he was Grampa. Dreaming or what do you call it—seeing things. So I dont need to do what he said.
Theres something heavy in the bag—like a stone or something. I feel it moving as the bag swings. A thot comes out of no place.
What if its money?
Now I go back to thinking that wolf Grampa is real. Maybe he led me to the gym bag so Id find money inside. I found a back pack full of money last summer. Thats 1 of the reasons I am in Creekside now—the money. Also the dead body. Dont ask—its a long story.
How much do you trust Grampa? Spencer wasnt talking about Grampa the wolf but its still a good question.
Anyway I dont throw away the gym bag. I keep skating and when I come to the next street lite I stop and open it. I am all ready thinking of what to do with the money. Spencer can have something for his camera and Benj at Creekside can have a poster of the Maple Leafs. He is a big fan. Id like to help Bet but I cant think how. And you cant help every body. Sorry Steve you cant. I shuld give some of the money to my cousins. Or maybe we shuld just split it since were all grandsons. Thinking of Grampa I want to find out if there is a wolf shelter or wolf fund or something. I bet there is. Some of the money shuld go there to say thank you.
By now I am almost sure about whats in the bag—the only question is how much. A hundred dollars? A thousand? A billion? All rite not a billion but it culd still be a lot. So I am pretty disappointed when I push aside the towelly things and a small clear plastic bag of cereal and find the sleeping baby.
Really? Yeah. Small and rinkly and curled up with a thum in its mouth. The gym bag is a baby bag. The towel things are some kind of diaper.
I look around half expecting to see Grampa so I can ask him what I am supposed to do now. Cause I have no idea. Im a kid—15 last birthday and not very smart. What do I know about babys? Nothing. I mean I know where they come from but thats all.
Who wants a baby? I would rather have money.
I can see the little sholders moving when the baby shivers. It turns its head and yawns and then goes back to sleep. It has a hat on and mitts and a scarf and bootys and all but its cold. Well of course it is. The bag was on the ice. The babys been outside a long time. An hour? 2 hours? A long time.
So the first thing I have to do is get the baby warm. I zip up the bag and hold it to me. I dont want the other handle to break now. I look around for head lites.
Nothing coming. Drat.
I skate care fully and think about ways to warm up the baby. There are no cars and no houses. Can I start a fire? No. What can I do? The warmest place I can reach rite now is—well—me. I cant give the baby my coat but I can put it inside my coat. I stop again. How to do this? My brain is working as fast as it can. The best way seems to be for me to wear the gym bag like a front pack with the handles around my sholders and the bag on my chest and my coat over everything. So I try that. Now my body heat will warm up the bag and the baby. The broken handle means the bag hangs off to my left. So what. I zip my coat back sup and go.
Where is every body?
I skate care fully. Push left. Glide a bit. Push rite. Glide a bit more.
The road ends at a cross roads. Left wuld take me back to the river so I go rite for a change. Still no houses or farms. Canada is a big empty country. You forget that when you are driving around. Try skating and you will see it is full of no people. You will see how far it is between places.
The baby is awake. I can feel it move around and hear it breathing. And there is a car coming! Its behind me. A car with a reason to be out late at nite. Some body to save me and the baby. I turn and jump and wave both arms. Stop! I shout.
The car is not slowing down.
Please stop!
The car zooms past. Tail lights glow red for a minit and then disappear.
The baby starts crying.
ITS COMING FROM UNDER MY COAT.
The gym bag bumps against my hart. I feel the baby going uhh when it breaths in and then mew mew and then uhh again. The crying is not loud but I cant miss it. Its coming from inside me. Its like I am crying.
There there I say.
The baby does not stop. Uhh. Mew. Uhh. Mew mew. Great. This is great. I am having a wonderful time.
Push. Glide. Think. What could be rong with the baby? It is not as cold any more so its probly hungry. When I wake up from a nap Im hungry. Come to think of it I am hungry rite now. I think about foods I like. A grill cheese sandwich. Cereal. I remember the oat meal cookys at Steves house and I feel a bit like crying myself. Theres a small blu sine at the side of the road. 3731279. Whatever that means. Snow and trees and dark all around.
There are cheerios in the gym bag. The baby can eat those but not yet. It is 2 cold to eat in the middle of the road. Tuff luck baby. Keep crying. I will stop the next car that comes by if I have to stand in the middle of the road to do it.
Push and glide.
I have not herd any crying in a while. Is the baby back to sleep? Maybe. I am not tired any more. I am hungry and worryed.
Another blu sine. 3771592.
Still nothing from the baby. Not even breathing in—I can not feel or hear the uhhh. I stop at the next street lite and open my coat and unzip the gym bag a bit more. The baby looks up at me and opens its mouth but no noise comes out. Is it 2 weak to cry? Wow. This is not good. I can hear Grampas voice telling me to look after what is in the bag. But how? Nobody is around. There is only me and the street lites and miles and miles of empty road. And trees and snow. I do not know where the hi way is or the next town or the hospital or anything. I am lost. I am letting the baby down. And Grampa.
I need an idea. Smart people get them all the time. Spencer does I know. Come on brain—dont fail me now.
3779912.
What are these sines about? They dont show turnoffs—theres no where to go. Snow and forest is all I can see. I whack at the sine with
my mitt fist. Im upset and angry. The feeling sits inside me like that big bite of peanut butter you cant get down. Its nothing to do with Grampa or rite and rong. Its not about Vi this time. Im angry because the baby is weak. Im angry I cant make it better. Im angry at me I gess. Hitting the sine is my kind of idea—stupid. Xept that when I nock over the sine it hits the pole behind it and I see something.
Not nock—knock. Its another of Mr Wings tricky spelling words for me. Know knock knee write wrong. After Christmas he wants me to learn about commas and stuff. I told him you dont need commas for anything and he says yes you do. He is wrong.
The pole behind the sine has a box on it. I didnt see it befor. And when I step forward and wipe the snow off the box I see a name.
GOYETTE.
Its a male box. Witch means theres a house back there in the snowy forest. I decide to find it. Is that an idea? Not really. But its what Im going to do. I hop-walk off the road and up thru the snow bank. The trees are mostly ever green. I start moving left and rite as I go forward. I dont know where the house is and I dont want to walk past it.
I am thinking that those blu numbers must all be house numbers. There are a few houses along this road. If I was smarter I culd of figured this out and Id be inside all ready. But theres no point in thinking about that. I am here now.
The ground feels different under my skates. Little stones. A lot of them. A drive way. I follow it up hill and around a bend and there is the house—dark against the star brite sky.
Hang in there baby I say out loud.
The drive way loops up to the door. No lites any where and no foot prints in the snow xept mine. I hop-walk to the door and pound on it but I dont wait long because this is an emergency and there are no rules in emergency. Beside the door is a small window. I smash it with a kick from my skate and reach in and around to open the door from the inside.
HELLO! I SHOUT.
No anser. I turn on some lites and look around for the thing where you set how hot you want the place to be. Its in the living room. I smile at the whoosh sound from the furnace when I turn up the heat. Its great to be inside and walking around in socks and to feel warm air on me. I stuff a kitchen towel in the broken window. In a few minits it is warm enuff to take off my coat. I put the gym bag down on a chair. The baby inside stares up at me with eyes like black beads.