Sunday, November 8th, 2009

 

    

     Now I fully understand the expression about ‘ignoring the elephant in the living room.’  Clarice uses it sometimes in reference to one of her brothers. She says Jacques has the ability to “ignore the elephant in the living room, even when it’s stampeding.”  Since Jacques has ten kids, twenty-two grandchildren, and a bossy wife, I’ve always figured the only way the poor guy could keep his sanity is by ignoring almost everything that happens in his house.

 

My father and I don’t have the excuses Jacques does though, and both of us, by nature, are usually pretty vocal when it comes to something that’s bothering us.  But this time, Papa and I have been ignoring the elephant in our living room, too, which I’ve discovered is a heck of a lot more uncomfortable than just acknowledging the elephant’s presenc,e and figuring out what to do about him.

 

     Like I knew he would be, Pops was home when I came in from Dylan and Dalton’s Halloween party. I couldn’t take my mind off the upset over Scott Monroe, so as far as the party went, I wasn’t much fun to be around.  Kylee asked me twice if I was sick, and I finally said I had a headache, just so I didn’t have to explain to her, or to anyone else, why I was so quiet. She offered to have me take her home when it was only eight o’clock, but I told her no, and stuck it out until the party ended at ten.

 

     After I got home, I stood in the laundry room stalling as long as I could while taking off my shoes and coat. I heard the sound of the TV coming from the great room. I shuffled from foot to foot, took a deep breath, counted to ten, took another deep breath, and then opened the door. I stepped into the kitchen. Without moving my head, I slid my eyes to the right. Papa was sitting in his recliner. His gaze didn’t shift from the   television screen, nor did he tell me hi, or ask me how the party was. 

 

     I walked to the fridge and pulled out a carton. I wasn’t thirsty, but the act of drinking a glass of orange juice allowed me to delay my entry into the great room for a few seconds longer.

 

     When my glass was empty, I put it in the dishwasher.  At that point, I had no choice but to turn around and face my father.

 

     Papa looked up when I stopped a few feet from his chair. I figured he had a lot to say to me, and figured most of it would be said loudly.  Therefore, I was surprised when his sentence was short and spoken in an even, neutral tone.

 

“How was the party?”

 

     “O...okay,” I stammered, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

     “You got Kylee home all right?”

 

     “Ye...yeah.”

 

     “Better get to bed. It’s late.”

 

     “I...I know.  Did you...what’d you and Carl do?”

 

     “Helped Jason move into his apartment, then ate dinner at Marie’s.” 

 

     Marie is one of Clarice’s sisters, and Jason’s grandmother.  I took an educated guess and figured when Papa arrived at Carl’s, Carl was leaving to help with the move. Since Carl’s family celebrates even the most minor of occasions with a big meal, I assumed Nana Marie invited all the movers to her place for supper.

 

     “Oh. Did things...did things go okay?”

 

     “Yep.”

 

     “Was...was Nana Marie’s dinner good?”

 

     “Always is.”

 

     And that was the end of our discussion. Papa never brought up Scott Monroe, and though I wanted to so badly that the man’s name was almost searing the tip of my tongue, I followed my father’s lead and acted like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between us that day.

 

     “I...I guess I’ll go to bed.”

 

     “ ‘Night.”

 

     I hesitated a moment.  Papa’s attention appeared to be focused on the TV, but since I was certain he’d seen that particular episode of MASH at least a dozen times, I couldn’t imagine what was so riveting about it, beyond the fact that it allowed him to ‘ignore the elephant.’

 

     I finally gave in and ignored the elephant, too.

 

     “Good...good night, Papa.”

 

     I stood there a few seconds longer, but when Papa didn’t say anything else to me, I trudged up the stairs, entered my room, and shut the door.  I came out just long enough to brush my teeth and put my costume in the hamper.  The sound of the television drifted to me when I crossed back from the bathroom to my bedroom. I shut off the light, nudged the door closed with my right heel, climbed in bed, and then tossed and turned until midnight. I don’t know what time Papa finally went to bed.  He didn’t come upstairs while I was awake, and if he came up after I’d fallen asleep, his movements didn’t disturb me.

 

     Pops had cereal boxes on the table and bread toasting when I got downstairs the next morning.  We hurried through breakfast, like we always do when I have to get to school, and Pops has to get to work.  I didn’t say a word while I ate a bowl of Cheerios.  I thought if I kept my mouth shut, maybe Papa would say...I didn’t know what, but something about Monroe.  I thought maybe he’d finally tell me what my punishment was for contacting the L.A. Times, or I thought maybe he’d lecture me on respecting his privacy, or I thought maybe...just maybe, he’d clear the air and tell me exactly why Uncle Roy had blamed him for Scott Monroe shooting Chris.  None of those things happened; however, and we ate in silence until I had four spoonfuls of cereal left.  I glanced through my eyelashes when I saw Papa push his empty cereal bowl aside.  I could feel him staring at me, and wondered what was coming. I figured it was one of two possibilities - being grounded, or the lecture on respecting his privacy.

 

     “Trevor, in May you’ll be eighteen.”

 

     We’d established that the previous day, but since the look on Papa’s face told me a wisecrack wouldn’t go over well, I gave a small, wary nod of my head.  For a brief second, I wondered if I’d upset my father to the point he was about to kick me out of the house.  I’d heard of that happening to other teenagers, and I admit, my heart began pounding until my common sense kicked in and reminded me that my father would never tell me to pack up and leave, unless I’d done something pretty horrible. To be honest, I couldn’t think of any misdeed so horrible it would actually cost me my father’s loyalty and love, and despite all that’s happened in the days since, I still haven’t come up with one.

 

     “Because of that...because you’re a lot closer to being a man, than you are to being a boy, I’m gonna ask something of you man to man.”

 

     “Man to man?”

 

     “Yeah. Which is different from me asking something of you father to son. You understand?”

 

     I thought a moment, trying to figure out what Papa was getting at.  I had no clue where the conversation was leading, but I did think I knew what he meant by ‘man to man’ versus ‘father to son.’

 

     “I...I guess if you ask me father to son, then it’s like you’re telling me to do something that I’ve got no choice about, or say so in. Where as if you ask me something man to man, then I do have a say so. Is that right?”

 

     “Yeah,” Papa nodded. “That’s right.”

 

     “So what is it?  Whatta ya’ wanna ask me?”

 

     “I...Trev, I’m asking you...man to man I’m asking you not to work on that book any more.”

 

     My spoon clattered against my bowl, causing droplets of milk to splatter the table.

 

     “What!”

 

     “I’m asking you not to work on that book any more.”

 

     “I heard you the first time. You mean you’re forbidding me to work on it?”

 

     “No. If I was forbidding it, I wouldn’t have made this request man to man.”

 

     “But it’s my school assignment.”

 

     “I realize that, but you’ve still got time to pick another plot. The due date is five months away yet.”

 

     “But I’ve worked so hard on it!”

 

     “I know, and I’m sorry but--”

 

     “This sucks!” I shot to my feet. “This totally sucks!”

 

     “Watch your mouth, young man!”

 

     “No! You said this was man to man, so as one man to another, I’m tellin’ you it sucks!  It’s not fair.  You can’t ask me to change my plot now. I’ve put so much time and work into this!  I’ve never worked so hard on a school assignment in my life! Never!  And it’s good!  Damn it, Papa, it’s good!  The book is good.  Even Mom says so!”

 

     “I’m sure it is good, but--”  

 

     “How would you know?  You haven’t read it! You won’t even look at a single page of it for me.  The book is about you, and what a hero you were, and what you did for Jennifer and Libby, but you haven’t even asked me if you can read it.  You haven’t shown any interest in it, and now--”

 

     “I asked you not to write it.”

 

     “But then you said I could!  You changed your mind and said I could! I followed all your stipulations. I got permission from everyone, and I changed all the names, and I changed all the locations...I did everything you wanted me to. For you to ask me to do this now...well it isn’t fair!”

 

     His voice was quiet when he said, “Sometimes life isn’t, Trev.”

 

     “No! Don’t call me ‘Trev’ like that makes everything okay between us.  Like that changes what you’ve just asked me to do.”

 

     “Trevor, I’m sorry. I really am. But you were the one who looked up that information on Monroe.  If you hadn’t, then maybe I’d still be okay with all of this. Maybe I wouldn’t be asking you to--” 

 

     I was furious with my father, but even more furious with myself, because there were tears running down my face like I was some kind of five-year-old crybaby.  The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was cry in front of Papa, and it wouldn’t be until much later, after I’d had a chance to calm down, that I realized those tears showed just how important that book was to me.

 

     “What are you so afraid of, Papa?”

 

     I could feel my father retreat a bit, and I knew his, “Huh?” was Papa’s way of stalling when it came to giving me an answer.  After all, I’d learned that method from him.

 

     “What the hell are you so afraid of? That I’ll find out you’re not perfect?”

 

     Papa stared up at me a moment before answering.

 

“You’re seventeen, not seven. I assume you know by now that I’m not perfect.”

 

     “Yeah, I do,” I acknowledged, though if the truth were told, I’d never thought of my father as less than perfect until that moment. “And I guess that means you screwed up the night Chris was shot, huh?  I guess that means you could have prevented it, but you didn’t.” 

 

I was so angry that I didn’t think about what I was saying, or whether or not I even had any facts to support my suppositions. I just wanted to lash out and hurt my father as much as he’d hurt me.

 

“I guess that means you deserved Uncle Roy’s anger!  I guess that means he did the right thing when he refused to be your friend any more.”

 

Papa’s voice was quiet and distant. “Maybe so.”     

 

     “Maybe the biggest mistake he made was deciding to be your friend again! Maybe...maybe you’ll end up pulling the rug out from under his feet again someday when it comes to something that matters, just like you’ve done to me!  Now I finally see what it’s all about.” 

 

     “What what’s all about?”

 

     “No one can count on you! That’s it, isn’t it?  Uncle Roy couldn’t count on you to keep Chris safe. My mom couldn’t count on you to be the kind of man she needed you to be. And now I can’t count on you to help me with my book...a book you said I could write!”

 

     “Trev--”

 

     Papa stood and started to come around the table, but I gave my chair a violent shove and ran for the stairs.  I charged to my room, grabbed my backpack, and charged to the main floor again.  I gave Papa a push when he reached for me as I rushed through the kitchen.  I slammed the door between the kitchen and laundry room, shoved my feet in my tennis shoes, and grabbed my letterman’s jacket from the closet.  I didn’t bother to put the coat on, or fix the backs of my shoes so they fit over my heels, as I ran out the door to my truck.

 

     I was crying so hard I couldn’t see, but that didn’t stop me from flying down our driveway. Gravel sprayed up behind me and the tires squealed against the pavement as I wheeled the truck onto the road a lot faster than I should have.

 

     I’ve never skipped school in my life, but that day I did.  I drove to the airport and parked my truck in the small lot south of Gus’s office.  I put my coat on, used my thumbs to fix the backs of my shoes so they fit correctly, wiped my wet eyes and lashes with my right sleeve, then climbed out of the vehicle.  Gus walked toward me with a puzzled look on his face. When I didn’t say anything, but instead started toward the hanger, he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

 

     “Not goin’ ta’ school today.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “Just not goin’.”

 

     “Trev, is everything all right?”

 

I turned to look at his face.  It’s a face with character, like my grandfather’s  - a face that practically tells Gus’s life story just by studying the lines that have taken up residence in his forehead and cheeks. He has a permanent squint from all his years of flying and being subjected to the bright sunlight, and a shock of thick, white hair on his head, with a few strands of rust yet, that indicate Gus’s hair was red in his younger days.    

 

“It’s just that...” I dropped my eyes, shoved my hands in my coat pockets, and kept walking. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine.  You got something for me ta’ do?”

 

I think even if there had been no work for me, Gus would have found some. He probably figured he’d better keep close tabs on me, and he probably knew I’d get in a lot less trouble working for him, as opposed to being left on my own to wander wherever my truck took me.

 

“Yeah...yeah, sure. I’ve got something for ya’ ta’ do.  The helicopter’s engine needs an overhaul. I was gonna work on that today.  You can help me.”

 

We arrived at the big hanger. I exchanged my coat for a pair of denim coveralls.  “You don’t have to pay me,” I said, as I zipped the coveralls up.

 

“I’ll pay you.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“You already said that.”

 

“I know, but--”

 

“Look, workin’ on this chopper is a two-man job, and I woulda’ had you helping me with it come Saturday. Whether we put in a full day on it today, or whether we wait until Saturday, makes no difference to me.  So, whatta ya’ say?”

 

“Okay,” I agreed. “Today’s good.”

I looked up at the old Bell 206 helicopter Gus owns, that’s primarily used to transport seriously injured or ill patients from Eagle Harbor to the trauma hospital in Juneau.  As Gus says, it’s our own Flight for Life without the fancy name, and without much money to keep her in the air.

 

“I’ve never worked on this before, though.”

 

Gus shrugged. “So it’s time you learn.”

 

“Is it a lot different from working on an airplane?”

 

“An engine’s an engine, my boy, no matter what it powers – go cart, car, eighteen-wheeler, airplane, helicopter, or space shuttle.”

 

I thought Gus was exaggerating quite a bit when he threw in the space shuttle, but my only response was,  “If you say so.”

 

“I do.”

 

I was a little nervous about the idea of working on the chopper. I know its history by heart, because Gus never tires of telling me about it.  First assembled in 1963, the Bell 206B was originally manufactured for use by the Army. It’s designed to fly in every type of climate from the artic to the jungles, to the hottest deserts of the worlds. The 206 has accomplished more missions, flown more hours, and has set and broken more industry records than any other aircraft in the world.  

 

Gus bought the old chopper in 1988, with the purpose in mind at that time to use it for tourist flights over Eagle Harbor and the National Forest. Gus treats the chopper like it’s his baby.  I think a large part of the reason behind that is because the chopper’s now used as an air ambulance.  Gus always wants it in the best possible working condition.  If I’ve heard him say once, I’ve heard him say a thousand times, “There’s even less room for mistakes when you’re transporting injured people to the hospital, along with a paramedic or two, than there is otherwise. If it’s just me I’m responsible for...well, of course I wanna make it home safely, but I’m tellin’ ya’, Trev, I don’t want it to be my fault if this baby goes down with other people on board.”

 

We rolled the ten-drawer tool chest toward the helicopter. As Gus took the key from the pocket of his coveralls that unlocked the chest, he said, “Ya’ know, Trev, I was real proud the day your pops came to me and asked me about usin’ old Bessie here as an air-ambulance. The fire department never had such a thing before your pops arrived.  Maybe if it had, my brother would still be alive.”

 

I nodded. Gus’s brother had owned a fishing boat that was hit by a freighter. The accident happened ten years before Papa moved to Eagle Harbor, but everyone still talks about it because the entire crew on the fishing boat died.  Most of the men drowned, while four others, including Gus’s brother, Harlan, survived until help arrived.  All four men died as a result of their injuries before they reached the hospital in Juneau.  The only way to get there before the inception of the air ambulance was by ferry.  That was okay for minor injuries like broken arms and sprained ankles, but not the best method of transportation for internal injuries, severed limbs, and major head trauma - all of which were suffered by the men on the fishing boat.

 

“I thought you called her Margaret.”

 

“Who?

 

“The chopper. I thought her name was Margaret.”

 

“Oh...Margaret, Bessie...what’s the difference? As long as she gets everyone to the hospital and back with no mishaps, that’s all that counts, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

We worked for thirty minutes, when suddenly, Gus had to go to his office.

 

“You keep workin’,” he told me as he laid a wrench on top of the tool chest. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Need to check on something in the office.”

 

I watched Gus walk out of the hanger with the stiff gait he now has he blames on arthritis. I shrugged my shoulders after he was out of sight, and went back to work.  Fifteen minutes later, he returned.  He picked up his wrench and started helping me again.  Another fifteen minutes passed before he confessed, “I just want ya’ to know that when I went to the office, I called your pops.”

 

My eyes slid to Gus, but I didn’t stop working, nor did I say anything.

 

“I don’t know what happened to cause ya’ to skip school, Trev, but that’s not like you.”

 

“My father knows what happened.”

 

“That may be so. He didn’t say.  But you know the school’ll call your pops to find out where you are when the attendance rolls get to the office. I didn’t want him worryin’ about you.”

 

Gus is on the school board, so although his four daughters have been out of Eagle Harbor High School for close to thirty years, he knows that a parent is expected to call his kid in as ‘absent’ if the kid isn’t going to be in school that day.  Mrs. Shipman, Jake’s mom, is the principal’s secretary. She calls the parents of any kid who doesn’t show up at school, and wasn’t phoned in as ‘absent’ by eight-thirty.

 

“If Papa’s worried, it’s his own fault.”

 

I could feel Gus looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the nut I was loosening. When I didn’t offer an explanation for my words, Gus said, “Well...either way, things are fine. Your pops knows where you are, and he said you could stay and work for me today.”

 

“Did he say that man to man, or father to son?”

 

“Huh?”

 

I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

 

Gus allowed a long silence to linger between us before he spoke again.

 

“Me and Evelyn have four daughters, Trevor, so I don’t have any experience when it comes to raising a son. I always wanted one, though – a son, that is. Figured it would be nice to have a friend when my boy was raised, the way my own father and I were friends after I was grown and out on my own.”

 

“I’ll never be friends with my father,” I declared. “Never.”

 

“Trev--”

 

“Look, I came here to work, not to talk about things you...or anyone else, can’t fix. Now are we gonna get this job done, or am I gonna leave?”

 

“Sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good, Trevor Gage, but have it your way. We’ll work.”

 

“Glad ta’ hear it.”

 

Nothing else was said between Gus and I that had to do with fathers and sons.  We worked until noon, then Gus invited me to his house for lunch.  He must not have wanted to let me out of his sight, or maybe Papa had asked him keep an eye on me.  I’m still not certain which it was, though I suspect Papa had something to do with it.  Gus’s wife, Evelyn, didn’t act surprised to see me, so I knew after Gus had called Papa, he must have called Evelyn, too.  The kitchen table was set for three when we walked in the door, and there was plenty of food for all of us - two more indications that Gus had phoned ahead about my presence. 

 

We stayed at Gus’s house an hour. When we got up to return to the airport in his pickup truck, I thanked Evelyn for lunch.  She said, “Your welcome, sweetheart. Come again any time,” which was nice of her, considering she wasn’t expecting an extra mouth to feed when her husband left for work that morning.

 

When we got back to the airport, a white van was sitting in the parking lot.  I knew it belonged to Mike Matterson, a guy who sells Gus airplane parts. I spotted Mike coming out of the hanger as Gus parked the truck.  He must have been looking for Gus. When Mike saw us, he grinned and waved. 

 

If Mike was wondering why I wasn’t in school, he didn’t ask.  But then, he’s from Ketchikan, so he doesn’t know me on any other level but as Gus’s employee, and he might think I graduated last year.

 

Gus and Mike like to gab, which made me wonder how long it would be before we’d start working on the helicopter again. They were already jabbering as they headed for Gus’s office. Gus must have suddenly remembered I was there, because he paused and turned around.

 

“Trev, go ahead and get to work on the chopper again. I’ll be there in a little while.”

 

“You sure?” I questioned, not having nearly as much confidence in my abilities as Gus did.

 

“Yeah.  You’ll be fine. If you have any questions, just come and get me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

I walked to the hanger, while Mike and Gus walked to the office. I exchanged my coat for coveralls once again, and then started working. An hour and twenty minutes later, I heard Mike’s van start, and thirty seconds after that, Gus joined me.

 

“Boy, that Mike sure likes to yak.”

 

I turned away so Gus wouldn’t see my smile.  When it comes to the gift of gab, Gus can keep up with the best of them.  He can even out-talk my pops and me.

 

Gus and I didn’t finished overhauling the helicopter’s engine until five-thirty. I took my time putting the tools away. I didn’t want to risk running into Clarice at the house, and having to answer a bunch of questions regarding my whereabouts during the day. Considering Jake’s mom is married to one of Clarice’s nephews, the chances are good that Clarice would know Mrs. Shipman had to call Papa to find out why I wasn’t in school.

 

Since I wasn’t in any hurry to get home, I asked Gus if we could take the helicopter up to hear how she sounded.

 

“Not tonight. The Missus and I have bingo down at the church, so I need to get home for a shower and supper. Dirk’s got the day off tomorrow, so he’ll probably be out here a while.  He and I’ll take her up then...when you’re in school.”

 

The way Gus emphasized the last part of his sentence, gave me the hint he wouldn’t allow me to work for him again on Tuesday. Dirk is Dirk Chambers. He’s married to Gus’s oldest daughter, Susan. Dirk flew an Apache helicopter in the Gulf War, and then again in the Iraq War.  Now that he’s retired from the Army, he works in Juneau as an aeronautical engineer.  Dirk is Gus’s backup air ambulance pilot when Gus isn’t available because he’s out of town, or on vacation, or in some other way tied up.  

 

     When Gus left the airport at six, I had no choice but to leave, too.

 

     “You goin’ home?” 

 

     Gus tried to sound nonchalant when he asked that question, but I still picked up on his concern.

 

     “Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m goin’ home.”

 

     “Good boy.  Trev, whatever’s goin’ on between you and your pops, you’ll get it worked out.”

 

     I gave a shrug that was meant to broadcast indifference, thanked Gus for letting me work with him all day, then climbed in my truck. 

 

Despite what I’d told Gus, I didn’t go directly home. Instead, I went to Kylee’s house to find out what our class assignments had been that day. She was surprised to see me on the front steps after Chandler, who had answered the door, ran and got her.

 

     “I thought you were sick.”

 

     Evidently, no one knew I’d skipped school.  Because of that, I assumed after Gus had called my father, Papa called the school and reported me as absent, without giving an explanation as to why I wouldn’t be there.

 

     “I...yeah...yeah, I am...was. I’m feeling a little better now.”

 

     “You should have left the party early last night like I wanted you to.”

 

     “I know. Listen, I just came by to find out what assignments we had today. I need to get ho...back home and start working on ‘em.”

 

     Kylee had me step into the living room. Fortunately, she was home alone with Chandler, so I didn’t have to make small talk with her parents. Mr. Bonnette was still at work, and Mrs. Bonnette was at the dime store getting some art supplies Chandler needed for a school project he had spread across the kitchen table.

 

     I stayed in the living room while Kylee walked down the hall to her bedroom. She was back a few minutes later with a piece of notebook paper in her hand. 

 

     “Here you go.”

 

     I took the paper and glanced at it. Kylee had written our assignments on it; from what pages we were to read in various text books, to what day the next test would be in history, to what pages I was supposed to study in my psychology book that would be discussed the next day in Sociology Class. A couple of the assignments I couldn’t do until I saw my teachers and got the necessary worksheets, but most of them I could complete that night.

 

     I folded the paper and shoved it in the right front pocket of my blue jeans. “Thanks.”

 

     “You’re welcome. You’ll have to make up the history test we had.”

 

     “I know.  I’ve got a hockey game after school tomorrow, so I’ll have to see if Mrs. Leonards will let me take it during lunch.”

 

     “She probably will. She’s cool.”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     Kylee stared up at me. “Trev, are you sure you’re okay?  You look...”

 

     When Kylee didn’t finish her sentence, I asked, “I look what?”

 

     “Upset.”

 

     “I’m fine.”

 

     “You’re not mad at me for something, are you?”

 

     I smiled and bent to kiss her. “No,” I said softly as we parted, “I’m not mad at you.”

 

     Kylee smiled in return. 

 

     “I’d better go. Thanks for the assignments.  I’ll call you later if I get time.  Otherwise, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

 

     “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

 

     I said goodbye to Chandler, then left before either of Kylee’s parents got home.

 

     I could see lights shining from the great room and kitchen when I pulled in our driveway.  Clarice’s vehicle was gone, but Papa’s was home.  Because the dogs didn’t run to greet me, I knew my father had done chores and locked the barn.

 

     I parked my truck outside the garage, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the house. I had no idea what to expect when I walked through the door when it came to the punishment I’d receive for skipping school, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t care. 

 

     I walked into the laundry room and flipped on the light. I could smell the spaghetti casserole warming that we hadn’t gotten around to eating yet.  I took off my shoes, hung up my coat, locked the door, shut off the light, and entered the kitchen.  The table was set, and Papa was taking garlic bread out of the microwave.  He glanced at me, but then returned his attention to what he was doing.

 

     “Get washed up. Supper’s ready.”

 

     I didn’t answer Papa, but then, he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer.  I went upstairs, set my backpack on my bed, then crossed the hall to the bathroom.  Five minutes later, I was back in the kitchen.  I sat down at the table. Papa sat in his usual place across from me. 

 

His, “How was your day?” was spoken in a neutral tone that didn’t give me a clue as to what he was thinking.

     I glanced at him, but couldn’t read his face any better than I was able to pick up on his mood from his voice.

 

     “Fine.”

 

     “You and Gus get a lot done?”

 

     “Ye...yeah.”

 

     “When you go to school tomorrow...and you will go to school, I expect you to see Mr. Hammond before classes start. Tell him where you were today, and then accept whatever punishment he dishes out.”

 

     Mr. Hammond is our principal, and the punishment for skipping would be a two-hour detention after school on Friday, along with extra assignments from all my teachers that I’d get no credit for completing.

 

     I couldn’t resist being a smart aleck. “Is that a man to man request, or a father to son request?”

 

     I got a dark glare.

 

“It’s not a request. It’s your father telling you how things are gonna be tomorrow, like it or not.”

 

     I didn’t argue with Papa. For one thing, I figured I was getting off easy by not getting yelled at and then grounded, and for another, none of it mattered to me anyway.  It was then that I realized how important my book was to me. Without the promise of what I could further discover about those characters I’d created that had grown to seem like old and trusted friends, I felt like a part of my soul had been ripped out.

 

     Neither Papa nor I said anything else throughout supper.  When we finished eating and stood to clean the kitchen, he said, “Do you know what assignments you missed today?”

 

     I nodded.  “I stopped at Kylee’s and got ‘em.”

 

     “Then get upstairs and start working on them.”

 

     I didn’t answer Papa as I left the kitchen. Being sent to my room was hardly a punishment, since I didn’t feel like being around him.

 

     I shut my bedroom door, turned on the light, and took the assignment sheet Kylee had given me out of my pocket.  I grabbed my backpack and went to my desk.  I spent the next hour and a half doing what homework I could, then sat and stared at the dark computer monitor. I finally turned the computer on.  When it had powered up, I clicked on Word, then opened the file I still had labeled as ‘Trevor’s book,’ since I hadn’t thought of a title for the book yet.

 

     I used the ‘page down’ key to slowly scroll through all I’d written since August.  I read various passages, and each time the spark would ignite within me that made me want to start writing, I’d stop and think of the man to man request my father had made of me.           

 

Having something requested of you man to man sucks royally.  If Papa had forbidden me to write my book, then no matter how mad I was at him, I’d have to obey. But what he did, in essence, was give me a choice. I can choose to quit writing the book and pick another plot like he asked of me, or I can choose to ignore his request and continue with the book.  But if I choose to ignore Papa’s request, then it’s like I’m saying that all he’s ever been to me...father, mentor, teacher, and yeah...hero, has meant nothing and never will.

 

Like I said, this sucks. Almost a week has passed since Papa first made that man-to-man request, and I haven’t reached a decision yet regarding what I’m going to do.  Or maybe I have, and I just don’t want to acknowledge it.  I haven’t worked on my book during the past six days; so that pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?

    

     Papa hasn’t once asked me if I’m still writing the book, or if I’ve picked another plot, and I haven’t brought the subject up either.  I guess in six short days, we’ve both gotten good at ignoring the elephant in the living room...and ignoring each other while we’re at it.

 

 

Saturday, November 28th, 2009

(Thanksgiving Weekend)

 

    

     I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or a bad thing, that Uncle Roy and Aunt Joanne didn’t visit us this Thanksgiving. They talked to Papa about doing so when we were at their house in July. They didn’t think anyone else could come other than Libby, but Papa said that didn’t matter. 

 

     “You guys have an open invitation any time,” Papa assured them over dinner one night. “I don’t care if it’s Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Chinese New Year’s. Come up whenever you can.  Me and Trevor don’t mind, do we, Trev?”

 

     Of course I said no. Would any kid in his right mind refuse to spend time with people who spoil the heck out of him? Aside from that, I’d never turn down a visit from Libby. We always have a lot of fun together. I was looking forward to introducing Libs to Kylee, and then to the three of us doing things during the holiday weekend. Kylee knows Libby and I are just good friends, so I wasn’t worried that she’d be jealous.  Based on their personalities, I was pretty sure they’d hit it off.

 

     Despite some initial plans, the Thanksgiving visit didn’t materialize.  John and his wife, Shawna, are forest rangers at Yellowstone Park. They found out in mid-October that they have to work the weeks of Christmas and New Year’s, so were able to schedule Thanksgiving week off.  John called his folks to tell them he, Shawna, and their three little girls, would fly into LAX from Wyoming on Wednesday morning.  Because of that, Aunt Joanne and Uncle Roy decided to hold their family Christmas celebration over this Thanksgiving weekend. 

 

I was disappointed when I found this out, and I’m sure Papa was, too, but now I think it was for the best. Papa and I having to play ‘hosts’ right now could have made for a bad weekend for all of us.  Things are still tense between my father and me. We’re still ignoring the elephant in the living room, and not talking to one another much while we’re at it.  Or at least I’m not talking to Papa very much. He’s trying hard to act like nothing happened, but I’m not buying it.  Uncle Roy, Aunt Joanne, and Libby would have noticed something was going on. Since I don’t feel like talking to anyone about my book and Papa’s request regarding it – not even Libby, I’m kind of glad they didn’t come. Even an innocent question of, “Hey, Trev, how’s the book writing coming along?” gets on my nerves these days. I grit my teeth, say, “Fine,” and change the subject.

 

     If the DeSotos had visited us this weekend, then the one good thing about it is Papa and I would have had an excuse to be away from one another. I’d have been busy doing things with Libby and Kylee, while Pops would have been busy entertaining Uncle Roy and Aunt Joanne.  As it was, we were stuck with one another from the time Papa got home from work on Wednesday evening, until this morning when he left for the station to start a forty-eight hour shift.  Phil worked Thanksgiving Day and Friday, in exchange for Papa working this weekend.  His wife had family coming in from out of town for a belated Thanksgiving dinner, so she wanted Phil at home to help entertain them. I heard Papa tell Carl that Phil said he’d rather work than spend the weekend with his wife’s obnoxious brother, but if he wanted harmony at home, he’d have to grin and bear it while hoping Monday came quickly.

 

     As far as what Papa and I did for Thanksgiving - we went to Clarice and Carl’s at noon. If I could have gotten out of it, I would have. I figured there was no use to try, though, because I knew the answer would be “Absolutely not,” before I even finished asking if I could stay home. 

 

Tables were spread from Carl’s kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room.  I don’t know how many people were there. I stopped counting when I reached fifty.  I spotted Jake as soon as I walked in the door, so immediately abandoned my father and spent the rest of the day with Jake and all the other cousins in our age group. 

 

     It was during Thanksgiving dinner that I had to grit my teeth and say, “Fine,” when Carl asked me how my book was coming along. I stole a glance at Papa, but he wouldn’t look at me. I have no idea if he thinks I’m still working on the book, or if he thinks I’ve picked a different plot and have started on a new book, or if he knows I haven’t written a single word in a book on any subject since his man to man request of me almost four weeks ago now.  He hasn’t asked, so I haven’t offered. It’s that elephant thing again.

 

     Speaking of my book, I didn’t get in nearly as much trouble for skipping school as Papa probably thinks I should have. I saw Mr. Hammond before school on the Tuesday after I’d worked for Gus, just like Pops said I had to.  I guess being a model student all these years was to my benefit. Mr. Hammond’s lecture was pretty short, as lectures go.

 

     “I’m surprised at you, Trevor,” Mr. Hammond said after I’d confessed to skipping. “What made you do such a thing?”

 

     I had no desire to tell the principal what had transpired between my father and me over Mrs. St. Claire’s assignment. The last thing I needed was to have her involved in this, too. I know how women are, and how they try to make everything right. I didn’t want Mrs. St. Claire talking to Papa.  Even though I’m mad at him, I realize how personal the plot of my book is to Pops, and I know if Mrs. St. Claire gets in the middle of the ‘man to man’ request Papa made of me, it will only make things worse than they already are.  However this is resolved, I’m the one who has to decide what to do. No one else can make the decision for me.  Not a teacher. Not a good friend like Libby. Not someone like Carl or Uncle Roy. And most especially, not my father.  

 

     I bluffed my way through Mr. Hammond’s questions.  I told him I’d been anxious to help Gus rebuild the helicopter’s engine.

 

     “I guess I made the wrong choice.”

 

     “I guess you did,” Mr. Hammond agreed. “Your classmates look up to you, Trevor.  You’re the editor of the newspaper, captain of the hockey team, and senior class president. Now are you going to lead by example, or make foolish choices that will land you in trouble?”

 

     I said exactly what I knew the man expected me to.

 

“Lead by example.”

 

     “Glad to hear it.”  Mr. Hammond smiled and tossed me a wink. “I know senior year is often hard to get through, although I usually don’t have boys in my office who are suffering from senioritis until the first warm day of spring.”

 

     I gave the man a smile in return, again, just because I knew he expected me to. There’re always a few senior boys, and sometimes a few senior girls, as well, who skip school the first day the sun shines and the temperatures hit sixty degrees each May.  Considering how small our town and school are; it’s kind of a dumb thing to do.  It’s not as though you aren’t going to get caught, that’s for sure. 

 

     “So, let’s just say you’ve gotten your senioritis out of your system, understand?”

 

     I knew Mr. Hammond meant I’d better not skip school again for the rest of the year.

 

     “I understand.”

 

     “Good. Despite your excellent record up until this point where infractions of school rules are concerned, I have no choice but to give you a detention.”

 

     I nodded.

 

     “You’ll report to my office when the dismissal bell rings on Friday. I’ll have assignments from your teachers that I’m sure will keep you busy until five o’clock.”

 

     I nodded again, said, “Thanks, Mr. Hammond,” because I was grateful he hadn’t spent a half hour lecturing me before probing to find out why I’d really skipped school, and then headed for my locker.

 

     As far as Kylee and my friends know, I was sick on that Monday.  My teachers know I skipped school, of course, but the only one who said anything to me about it was Mrs. St. Clair. She caught me alone after class on Thursday, and said she was surprised at my behavior.  I shrugged, told her it wouldn’t happen again, mumbled something about having made a “bad decision,” just to get her off my back, and then said, “Yeah, everything’s fine,” when she asked if I was okay in a concerned tone of voice. 

 

     Kylee had to work after school on the Friday I served detention, so she didn’t have time to stick around while I stalled by my locker. She thought I was headed to work at Gus’s, and I didn’t tell her differently. Dylan had to work, too, so he and Kylee left the building together.  Dalton and Jake hung around waiting for me to fill my backpack. I made an excuse about having left my Calculus book in Mr. Thain’s classroom, then told them to leave.

 

     “I need to get to Gus’s anyway.  You guys go on.”

 

     Dalton and Jake told me goodbye, and headed for the school’s main doors. I turned and made it look like I was going to Mr. Thain’s room, waited until the building was empty of students, and then hurried to Mr. Hammond’s office.  Since it was Friday, no extra curricular activities were held.  There was a basketball game scheduled for seven that Dalton was playing in, but it was at the high school in Juneau.

 

     I served my detention, then left when Mr. Hammond dismissed me.  I gave him the assignments I’d completed; though since I didn’t earn credit for them, I’m pretty sure the only thing he did was glance through the papers I handed him and then throw them away. Seems like a waste of two hours that could have been better spent if you ask me, but like I said, I know I got off easy, so I’m not complaining.

 

     Since I haven’t been working on my book, I’ve become a lot more intense at school. I don’t know why, except to say that now it’s more important to me than ever to be class valedictorian. I don’t know how I’ll achieve that if I don’t turn a book into Mrs. St. Claire, but for now, I’m not worrying about it. Every paper I hand is nothing less than perfect; I do extra credit work whenever it’s offered; and Mr. Ivanov, my hockey coach, says he likes the new drive I’ve suddenly got.