by John Lekich
This may sound weird, but I was actually relieved to get in the back of the police car. The arresting officer was very nice when he put the handcuffs on me, explaining that it was nothing personal and he was only following regulations. Now that it was true, at least I didn’t have to dream it anymore.
I calmed myself down by closing my eyes and imagining that I was picking the lock on the handcuffs. I could probably have done it too, if I’d had enough time and exactly the right tools. But what would be the point? Not even the smartest thief can get out of a locked police car.
With my background, I figured I was going to get a one-way ticket to some sort of prison/foster home. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to lie to Uncle Andy or Cookie about living at the Hendersons anymore. And I would get regular meals and access to a bathroom. But while there are a number of things a person could think about while they are in the back of a police car, all I could think about was how much I was going to miss my imaginary family.
I suppose that sounds a little strange, since we are talking about the kind of family that never existed in the first place. But I had gotten attached to them anyway—or at least the idea of them. And I knew for sure that—wherever I was going—it would not be at all like the picture of domestic bliss I created with the Hendersons.
At least, I thought I knew some things for sure. But it turned out I didn’t know anything for sure at all.
After I was arrested, I stayed in a temporary foster home for a while. I had to experience everything I don’t like about temporary foster homes. Strange people, strange food and a series of even stranger people from Social Services asking me personal questions. The less said, the better. I was planning my escape when something unexpected happened.
I was sent to hang out for a few days with an elderly gentleman named Judge Horatio Barnaby. I mean, I moved right into his house for a few days so that he could “observe” me. All I took with me was my usual small backpack of essentials, including my lock-picking tools and the Holloway hotline cell phone, both hidden in a special secret compartment that I had constructed myself by cutting into the lining and sealing it over with some Velcro.
Judge Barnaby had a very nice place, not like prison at all—unless you counted the fact that I wasn’t allowed to leave. Mind you, since the locks at Judge Barnaby’s were extremely pickable, there was what you might call ample opportunity for escape. On the other hand, I was very curious about why I was staying with Judge Barnaby. I also appreciated that the bed in his guest room provided an excellent opportunity to hone my sleeping skills.
Judge Barnaby was retired, with all sorts of diplomas displayed on the walls of his home office. He wouldn’t tell me much about what was going on at first, but he asked me all sorts of strange questions. For example, he played bits of music from various opera CDs and asked me to identify the operas. I did quite well, thanks to mom’s insistence on cultural enrichment.
Also, Judge Barnaby asked me if I could play anything on the grand piano that sat in his living room. Fortunately, Uncle Andy had insisted that I take piano lessons on those rare occasions when he could afford it, so I managed to fake my way through one of my mother’s favorite songs—“Brush Up Your Shakespeare” by Mr. Cole Porter. I even knew the lyrics, which are very humorous and made Judge Barnaby laugh quite a bit.
In my experience, people rarely lie to you when they are happy. That’s why it’s always a good idea to ask someone an important question while they are in a jovial mood. With this in mind, after I finished the song I looked at Judge Barnaby and asked, “Am I going to jail?”
“Jail?” Judge Barnaby laughed, as if the question were ridiculous. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well, if I’m not going to jail, where am I going?” I asked.
“You’re going to a town called Snowflake Falls,” said Judge Barnaby.
“What if I don’t want to go?” I asked.
Judge Barnaby was very accommodating when it came to clarifying my options. “The choice is yours,” he said. “It’s either Snowflake Falls or some form of correctional facility that I fear will clash with your unique personality.”
He pulled out my surprisingly thick file. “I don’t know how you managed to fall through the cracks with so much documentation on you,” he said. “It’s really quite a tribute to your exceptional avoidance skills.”
Judge Barnaby turned his attention to my file, the one that got me temporarily sent to the dreaded Monroe Academy. “The report states that you’re one of the brightest subjects tested in recent years,” said Judge Barnaby. “It also states that you have a problem with following rules and schedules you don’t agree with.”
“I don’t like being told what to do,” I admitted. “Or when to do it.”
He nodded. “Quite so,” he said. “I also have a rather extensive report from the headmaster at the Monroe Academy. He says you climbed out of a third-floor window using the rope normally reserved for Tug-of-War.”
“That was after they took away my crochet hook.”
The judge laughed again. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The crochet hook incident.”
“How come you’re so interested in me?” I asked. “I’m just your average underage thief.”
“You may be a thief and you may be underage,” said Judge Barnaby, “but there’s nothing average about you.” He pulled out a single sheet of paper from the file. “A few days ago, I received this from Mr. Ambrose Worton. It’s a very persuasive letter pleading that we be lenient with you.”
“That’s very considerate of Ambrose,” I said.
“I think it’s more than considerate,” commented the judge. “What interests me is why a man you have robbed repeatedly would speak up so earnestly on your behalf.”
“We bonded over milk and cookies,” I explained.
“Mr. Worton mentions that you actually added some of your own money to a sum of cash found in his drawer?”
“Most of it was money I stole from other places,” I confessed. “I wasn’t returning it or anything. I was just sort of recycling it.”
“You know, for someone so schooled in dishonesty, you can be refreshingly straightforward.” Judge Barnaby laughed again. When I asked what was so funny, he apologized. “It’s just that you’re so perfect for the program,” he said.
“The program? What program?”
“I run a unique program that’s had some success with, well, people like you.” The judge cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s called Second Chances. We give certain special cases an opportunity to turn their lives around by moving them to less urban communities and placing them in the care of appropriate families.”
“It sounds like Witness Protection,” I said. “You know, like I’m running away from the Mafia or something.”
“Nothing as glamorous as all that,” he replied. “What we really want you to do is experience an ordinary domestic life for a change.”
“What about my Uncle Andy?”
“We can arrange for limited, supervised visits once your uncle finishes his sentence. Both of you would have to put in a formal request.” The judge looked at me very seriously. “This is just my opinion, Henry. But I think it would do you a lot of good to be apart from your uncle for a while.”
“How long will I have to live in Snowflake Falls?” I asked.
“Anywhere from four to six months,” he answered. “It could be a shorter stay, if you violate your probation in any way.”
“That means I’ll be there until Christmas at least!” I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “What will happen to me after my time in Snowflake Falls is over?”
“A committee decides what to do with you based on your performance in the program,” explained the judge. “It’s unlikely you’ll be going back to your uncle. At least for the foreseeable future.”
“But where will I go?” I asked.
“That’s up to you,” said Judge Barnaby. “The committee may suggest placing you in a more restrictive
environment.”
“You mean like one of those jails for underage offenders?”
“A youth detention facility is an option, Henry.” The judge smiled encouragingly. “Of course, my hope is that we’ll be able to place you in long-term foster care after your time in Snowflake Falls. At least until we can take a close look at your uncle’s ability to make some serious changes in his lifestyle.”
“But isn’t your program just another way of sticking me in a foster home?”
“Second Chances operates a bit differently. I know the people you’ll be staying with,” said the judge. “The Wingates are just what you need.”
“But you’re paying them to look after me, right?”
Judge Barnaby nodded.
“How bad do they need the money?” I asked.
“They’re not doing this just for the money, Henry,” he replied. “Of course, things are a little slow in town at the moment.”
“How slow?” I asked, thinking I might be able to catch up on my sleep.
“Don’t worry, Henry,” said the judge. “We’ll find plenty for you to do. In fact, we’ve worked out an entire schedule of activities for you.”
“Why are you sending me to this place?”
“Think of it as a necessary shift in perspective,” said the judge.
“But I don’t want to shift my perspective,” I said.
Judge Barnaby sighed. “Change is hard, isn’t it, Henry? Did you know that you’re my last Second Chancer? After we see how things work out for you, I’m retiring from the program and going fishing.”
When I said I hoped he caught a lot of fish, the judge looked at me kindly and told me not to steal anything in Snowflake Falls. “There are people there whose job it is to keep an eye on you and send back written reports.”
“You mean like secret government spies?” I asked. “Snowflake Falls sounds like a great place.”
I don’t think Judge Barnaby appreciated my sarcasm. “I’m handing you a genuine opportunity, Henry,” he said. “Don’t waste it.” Then he added, “Besides, you might find Snowflake Falls more surprising than you expect.”
“What’s so surprising about it?” I asked.
“Nothing.” And then he thought for a second and said, “Nothing and everything.”
“I don’t get what you mean,” I said.
“You will,” said the judge. And then he began to laugh all over again.
SEVEN
Right after my mother died of cancer, Uncle Andy said that life is the biggest con artist of them all. I think he was trying to tell me that just when you think your future is going one way, fate will hand you a surprise that is virtually guaranteed to knock you on your butt.
I was reminded of this on the way to Snowflake Falls, a town on northern Vancouver Island that was stuck somewhere between too small and officially midsized. Way back when, there was a very busy pulp and lumber mill in Snowflake Falls, but it was barely operational now, and a lot of people had moved away.
When I googled the town’s name on Judge Barnaby’s computer, it didn’t look like I’d be able to keep up with my program of cultural enrichment. I mean, there was no opera company and no restaurant like Chez Maurice. A lot of the businesses were only open a few days a week. I don’t know if you could call the town sleepy. But it sure seemed to take a lot of naps.
It just didn’t look like my kind of place. Of course, I figured that I wouldn’t be staying there long, since my plan was to escape as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Judge Barnaby had anticipated this, which is why he gave me my own personal escort to Snowflake Falls. His name was Leon Tully. Even though he was wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt that read I Love Texas Hold’em, he was definitely an official government youth worker. You know, the kind of twenty-something guy who was paid to relate to wayward juveniles such as myself. In spite of his youth, Leon had already escorted a few other Second Chancers to Snowflake Falls, and while serious about keeping an eye on me, he was also very chatty. He talked quite a bit while driving to the ferry. The first thing he said was, “I’ve read your file, Henry. I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
When we were on the ferry and I asked if it was okay if I went to the washroom, Leon said, “I’m afraid it is my sworn duty to accompany you to the facilities.”
“You’re going to go with me to the washroom?” I replied. “I can’t believe it!”
“Boy, that’s really good,” said Leon admiringly. “The way you sound genuinely indignant and all.”
“I am genuinely indignant.”
Leon explained that he almost lost his last Snowflake Falls escort when the guy tried to climb through the window of a gas station mens room on the way to the ferry. “And he wasn’t nearly as escape-prone as you.” Leon grinned at me. “So shall we answer the call of nature?” he asked, like we were going to hit the buffet table together. “If you use the stall, please make sure that your feet remain on the floor at all times.”
I had a sudden picture of Leon watching my feet in the toilet stall and decided I didn’t have to go to the washroom after all. This didn’t seem to bother Leon, who was very upbeat. “As soon as I deliver you to your sponsor family, I get to return to actual civilization,” he explained. “I have discovered that the most exciting thing about Snowflake Falls is the well-paved road out of town.”
“I wouldn’t mind a little boredom,” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things. “It sounds rather peaceful.”
Leon actually snorted. “Peaceful? You won’t get any peace staying with the Wingates.”
Of course, I wanted to know more. Fortunately, Leon felt that there was no harm in giving me “an officially unofficial briefing on the Wingates.” He made me swear to keep it just between us. Then he leaned over and whispered, “If you ask me, I think it’s cruel to leave a guy totally unprepared for the Wingate experience.”
“So what are they like?” I asked.
“Well, there’s the dad, Harrison Wingate,” said Leo. “He owns Wingate’s—the town’s oldest department store. It’s been in the family for generations.”
“So?”
“So lately he’s been all stressed-out because a new Biggie’s has moved in across the street.”
“Biggie’s Bargin Barn?” I said. “They sell everything there is to sell.”
“Everything from barbells to barbecues,” agreed Leon. “Dirt cheap too.” Leon began singing the Biggie’s jingle. All about how Biggie’s was “cheap, cheap, cheapest because we’re big, big, biggest.”
I got him back on track by asking, “How many kids do the Wingates have?”
“Only two,” Leo said. “But after a while it’s going to seem like a lot more.” He shook his head in wonderment. “There’s Charlotte, who’s this book-crazy brainiac. She’s eleven, and she reads instruction manuals for fun. She’s gonna wanna run your entire life.”
When I asked how Leon knew this, he laughed. “Because Charlotte wants to run everybody’s life,” he said. His eyes widened. “She actually tried to give the last guy in your situation a haircut. And she has no barber training whatsoever.”
Leon’s eyes started to glaze over so I had to nudge him along. “You said there were two kids?”
“There’s Oscar. He’s almost three.” Leon rolled his eyes. “The good news is, he keeps to himself and doesn’t talk much.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“He screams.”
“A lot?”
“Oh yeah. I think it’s a weird form of communication. One of your predecessors said there seemed to be a wide variety of screams that only the family could understand. You know, like one scream for milk and another for cereal.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Plus, there’s a rumor that the kid bites,” said Leon. “I haven’t seen any actual teeth marks or anything, but the last guy in your position was pulling a double shift at Top Kow Burgers just to keep outside Oscar’s bite zone.”
“What’s Top Kow Burgers?”
I asked.
“Pretty much the social center of Snowflake Falls,” said Leon. “Unless you count the new Biggie’s.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Top Kow Burgers is the big fast-food chain, right? The one where the cow is wearing the top hat?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” said Leon. “Anyway, where was I?”
“The last guy, pulling a double shift?” I said.
Leon nodded gravely. “He said he’d rather mop the floor at Top Kow Burgers for the next six months than listen to one more scream from Oscar.”
“What happened to him?”
“I think Charlotte developed a little crush on him,” confided Leon. “After a few weeks, he was practically begging to be tossed in jail.” He leaned toward me and whispered, “For the Wingates, that makes three straight Second Chancers who never actually stood a chance. They have the worst record of any sponsor family in the program.”
“So why are they still allowed to take people in?” I asked.
“Harrison’s a good friend of Judge Barnaby’s,” explained Leon. “The Wingates really need the extra money that the program provides. You know, what with the new Biggie’s sucking the life out of their business and all. The Wingates need you as much as you need them,” he said. “If you don’t stick it out for the whole program, they’re going to be cut off.” Leon looked at me sympathetically. “Knowing you’re their last chance might give you some leverage. It’s just something to remember when you can’t stand it anymore.”
“Thanks, Leon. I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well, you should have seen what Charlotte did to the last guy,” he said. “I wouldn’t wish that haircut on a bank robber.”
We got off the ferry and began the drive into Snowflake Falls. I noticed that it was quite a hike from the ferry terminal into town. Escape on foot would be difficult. Of course, I’d have to put any thought of escape on the back burner. Leon had given me a lot of other things to think about. We didn’t speak again until we were just outside the entrance to town. There was a big wooden sign that looked like it had been carved by a giant lumberjack. It read Welcome to Snowflake Falls Where.