The Underdog Parade

by Michael Mihaley

  “Brutus? You’re friends with Brutus?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say friends.”

  Peter was highly skeptical that Brutus even had acquaintances. He was about to follow up with another Brutus question when Uncle Herb asked a question of his own. Josh had trouble understanding it and looked at Peter for help.

  “He wants to know what will happen if the police pull us over.”

  Josh looked over at Uncle Herb and gave an assuring nod. “I have a driver’s license, and the registration is in the glove compartment made out to Willow Creek. It will take a little fancy talking but no big deal. But, I don’t know how I’ll explain you guys. You might have to go to jail.”

  “Very funny,” Peter said.

  Uncle Herb smiled and returned to looking out the window. It was not often he went for drives in the middle of the night. Never was more accurate.

  Peter told Josh the weather experts downgraded the chance of rain. Josh smiled and winked. They traveled in silence on Sunrise Highway. Few cars were on the road. The air rushed in through the open windows and smelled clean. Josh pulled off at the Hecksher Park exit and onto a narrow, pine tree-lined straight away that led to a large, wooden dock. Tall, fluorescent lights ascended into the sky and illuminated the dock, but it was difficult to differentiate between the water and the sky. It was as if the dock was a diving board at the end of the world. It didn’t give Peter a good feeling.

  “The water’s calm,” Josh said.

  Trucks and SUVs with empty trailers were parked in the corner of the lot. Josh turned the truck around and backed the trailer down an asphalt path descending toward the water. He stopped before the trailer wheels hit the water. The air turned salty.

  “Time for you guys to get in,” Josh said. He unstrapped Herb’s wheelchair from the truck’s bed and carried it over to the boat. Peter craned his neck to watch as he held his uncle upright with a little help from the seat belt and passenger door.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable ride for Herb; he’d grown accustomed to handicap accessible vans where he could remain in his wheelchair. This was old school for him, things his parents had to do for him before technology found a way to improve quality of life for the disabled. He felt watery in the truck, as though any second he would drain to the floor.

  Josh came around to the passenger window, smiling as if he had a good secret about the world that only he knew. “Ready, dude?”

  Herb laughed to himself. No one ever called him dude before. Okay.

  Josh stuck his arm through the window and leaned Herb’s body into Peter as he opened the door. Herb could feel Peter’s grip around him tighten. Then Josh lifted him out of the truck. Herb felt like Josh barely struggled as he made his way to the boat, as if he was carrying a cooler for a day on the water.

  Josh turned his head and called, “Follow me, young Peter.”

  Peter jumped out of the truck. When he reached Josh, he was standing at the side of the boat, deliberating over something, with Herb still in his arms.

  “Young Peter, this might prove precarious.”

  With the added height of the trailer, it was a good six feet to climb over the boat, impossible for Josh to do with Herb in his arms.

  “It’s lower at the back, near the engine,” Peter remarked.

  Josh chewed on the predicament. “Impressive observation, young Peter.”

  Josh carried Herb over to the back then deliberated again. “Okay. Uncle Herb, tell me if you’re comfortable with this.”

  Uncle Herb nodded but refused to look at him. He felt ridiculous in this position, like a damsel in distress, and looking into Josh’s eyes would just add to the humiliation.

  Josh said, “I can prop you first on the trailer, then lift you on the edge of the boat. Then Peter can hold you on top while I climb aboard, and then we’ll put you in the wheelchair from there.”

  Herb looked at the distance from the top of the boat to the ground, then said, “Hut-dus-uh-rack-ullll-feer-ike.”

  Josh was studying Herb’s lip as he spoke. When Herb finished, Josh continued to look at his lips, then to Peter, then back to Herb.

  “I’m sorry,” Josh said.

  Peter was smiling. “He asked, ‘what does a cracked skull feel like?’”

  Josh grinned and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe that’s not the best plan.”

  Peter mentioned, “Josh, what if we lower the boat into the water first, then put Uncle Herb in from the dock?”

  Josh took a few seconds to revise the plan in his mind. “Young Peter, you are a genius.”

  Peter felt his cheeks warm.

  “Go, go, go! This fine gentleman in my arms does not lighten by the moment,” Josh shouted.

  Peter was confused. He didn’t move.

  “My hands are full at the moment, young Peter. You drive. I trust you. Of course, it’s not my truck to worry about. Yet I trust you still.” Josh was acting weird, very excited.

  “I can’t drive this truck, Josh.”

  “I’ll guide you,” Josh said.

  They went back to the driver’s side. Peter’s feet barely reached the brake. Josh walked him through starting the ignition, applying the brake, R meaning reverse, and then slowly releasing the brake and guiding the boat into the water.

  “A little more, little more, that’s it. More,” Josh said, as he stood a safe distance away. Herb couldn’t bear to look until he heard the truck’s brakes squeal to a stop. Before he knew it, he was seated safely in his wheelchair in the back of the boat.

  The boat engine started right away, and Josh unhooked the rope lines from the dock. They puttered into the bay, leaving little wake. Peter locked Herb’s wheels and sat on a bench next to him as Josh steered slowly into the bay, promising not to open up the throttle.

  Josh kept the boat at a moderate speed, and no one spoke as Josh cut the engine in the middle of the wide-open water and let the gentle rhythm of the waves sway the boat. The salty air washed over them. Josh left Peter in charge of the wheel and went to the bow and sat cross legged. He opened his arms and held his hands to the sky, then let them fall to his side. They sat in silence. Pulleys clanging on the masts of sailboat at the marinas could be heard in the distance. Stray seagulls flew through the air. Peter stared at the mesmerizing, blinking red light of a faraway buoy. He was amazed how there was nothing going on, yet there was so much to see. He felt no anxiousness, no pressure, just the calmness of the water below him. Peter lost all sense of time. Dark shadows of homes and buildings began to take form on land as the sky went from a black to dark purple.

  Then Josh turned his head and spoke. “Young Peter, those three boys—they bully you.”

  It was more of a statement than a question. For a second, Peter wondered how Josh knew. Did he pay more attention than he let on when Chipper appeared at the house? Did Mr. Terry tell him about the library incident? He realized that it didn’t matter, but his peacefulness vanished at the mere thought of Chipper.

  “Mostly the one boy. The other two just follow him.”

  Josh told him to let the boat float for a bit and join him on the bow.

  Herb had used this ideal setting for his morning prayers, and the tranquility of praying outside had put him in a deeply meditative, state but now he was alert as he watched Peter carefully navigate his way to the bow, holding his hands out just in case the rhythm of the sea knocked him off balance. Josh was standing at the tip of the bow, his eyes focused on Peter, beckoning him to come further until they were in a grasp’s reach.

  “For the record, I do not condone violence in any way, but I’m a firm believer in self-defense,” Josh said, looking over Peter’s shoulder in the direction of Uncle Herb. “Do you mind, Herb, if I show Peter the proper way to throw a punch?”

  One pink-and-orange stream streaked the sky. Herb could see enough of Peter’s face and the way that his body jerked with anticipation that this was something his nephew wanted. How could he not say yes? Even though it was not a response he
hoped his nephew would ever use in a situation, Herb approved of any action that might nurture confidence and self-esteem in his nephew.

  Josh proved to be an able and thorough teacher. Herb was impressed that, before having Peter throw an imaginary punch, Josh explained how to hold his fist so he wouldn’t inflict pain on himself, where to aim, and how to follow through. Peter’s first punches were tentative and awkward, but with each repetition, his competence and confidence grew.

  As Josh modeled and Peter followed, backlit by the colors of the sunrise, Herb thought they looked like mythological creatures fighting in the sky. He couldn’t stop watching Peter. It was the happiest Herb had seen him since his vacation started. You are a gift, my nephew, he thought. You don’t even know. He realized in all his forty-two years, he had never experienced a sunrise.

  Peter must have felt Herb’s eyes. He looked over and smiled.

  When the lesson was complete, and they all decided they better return home, Josh stood and took his shirt off. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and dove into the water.

  Herb watched the multiple pink-and-orange streaks turning the darkened sky into a beautiful shade of red. God’s artwork, Herb thought. Josh was right about it not raining yet, but what was that sailor’s lore? “Red skies at night, sailor’s delight; red skies in the morning, sailors take warning?”

  He didn’t want to waste time thinking about the day ahead. He stared at the sky and tried to burn this moment into his memory. He wanted it to leave a scar.

  Day 67

  Peter woke to his mother’s voice coming from somewhere outside his bedroom. His skin felt dry, and he could taste salt on his lips. The boat ride seemed like a fuzzy dream.

  He rolled over and looked out the window to another overcast day. Funny—from the sunrise they had seen, Peter figured the day would be clear.

  He started getting dressed. His mother’s voice sounded sharp. He could tell she was at a point where Peter always had the sense to back off. The stack was about to blow. He figured CJ was giving her a hard time about going to camp. Then he heard Uncle Herb speaking, and a pit formed in his stomach.

  He was pretty sure they had gotten away with it. His mother was still snoring when they walked in the door. Peter wondered if he’d left some incriminating evidence. He thought he’d covered his tracks pretty well.

  He edged closer to the door and heard his mother clearly. “I don’t really have time to talk about this right now. He’s a grown man. I need to get CJ to camp,” she said. Then she yelled for CJ to turn off the television and put her shoes on.

  Who was she talking about? Peter thought. Surely not him—twelve and a half is not a grown man. His father? Josh?

  Peter quickly pulled his shorts on and made sure the jeans from last night were safely folded in his closet when his mother appeared in the doorway.

  “You’re up, good.”

  Peter felt her eyes studying him as he yanked his socks over his feet.

  “You feeling okay, Peter? You look tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep so well.”

  “Me too. It must have been the anticipation of this rain. Did you hear? The storm moved further over the ocean. We might not even get rain now. These weather people know nothing.”

  Apparently not as much as Josh, Peter thought.

  “I have to drop CJ off. I’ll call you from work. I want you guys to drink a lot of water today. I’m worried you guys are dehydrated. Uncle Herb didn’t even have to go the bathroom this morning.”

  Peter nodded without looking at his mother. The image crossed his mind of Uncle Herb peeing over the side of the boat while Peter and Josh held him by his arms.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Peter lounged on the couch in front of the television while Uncle Herb nodded off in his wheelchair, his Bible teetering on his knee. Peter must have dozed off too, because when he opened his eyes, CJ was sitting at the end of the couch, watching some random talk show.

  He rubbed his eyes. Feeling disoriented, he asked, “What time is it, CJ?”

  “I don’t know.” CJ was one of those kids who turned into a zombie in front of the television, no matter what the show.

  “What are you doing home? Where’s Mom?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, not taking her eyes off the new weight-loss scheme being explained by some skinny lady on a puffy couch.

  Peter searched for the remote and pointed it angrily at the television. The screen went black. “CJ, I’m talking to you.”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted.

  The phone rang, and Peter stormed off to the kitchen to answer it. He should have guessed—the caller was from CJ’s camp. She identified herself as Lisa, camp director. Apparently CJ hadn’t shown up today, and they were doing their routine call. They wanted to talk to one of CJ’s parents.

  “They’re not here right now,” Peter said slowly, trying to think ahead to the next question.

  Lisa asked whom she was speaking to. Then asked for the reason CJ was absent.

  “Uh, she’s sick.”

  Uncle Herb’s eyes opened slowly, and he looked at CJ oddly for a second, then his eyes closed again.

  CJ had picked up on who was on the line. She stood and shook her head furiously and silently mouthed, “I hate camp.”

  “Okay. Maybe, but she’s really sick,” he said into the phone and hung up. He pointed at CJ then to the kitchen. CJ followed him reluctantly.

  Peter did his best to whisper so he wouldn’t wake Uncle Herb. “They wanted to know if you’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “So?”

  “You’re going to be in a lot of trouble if Mom finds out.”

  “So?”

  “How did you get home?”

  “The back roads.”

  Peter was speechless—that was a good two miles. He pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about the potential danger CJ could have faced. He’d seen a lot of those movies on Lifetime with his mother. It wasn’t a safe or smart thing to do.

  He said the first thing that popped in his head after that. “You are so lucky Dad is not home.”

  CJ shrugged and rolled her eyes, her way of saying as if.

  “You walked all the way home?”

  “I ran a lot of it.” There was a hint of pride in the statement.

  A circular saw whined outside. Through the bay window, Peter saw Josh carrying a piece of plywood up a ladder.

  “I told you I wasn’t going back to camp, Peter. I hate it.”

  Peter held his hands up in surrender. He was too tired to fight. “I’m going outside.”

  CJ didn’t ask to join him; she simply did.

  The sky was the color of old chalk, and the air felt heavy and sticky, not the attic-like dryness that Peter had grown accustomed to over the past several weeks. Peter walked across the front lawn to Josh’s house, with CJ on his heels.

  Josh was standing on the ladder, securing the plywood to the top of the ark. The roof was a simple inverted “V,” the sides of a triangle, angling up to a peak no higher than fifteen feet. The roof was the final piece and provided a more complete picture in Peter’s mind. The ark definitely did not possess the magnitude of Noah’s creation. If Josh was the savior of all the animal species, the giraffe was in a lot of trouble.

  Three wood columns supported the roof: one on the inside of each end of the ark and one directly in the middle. With the finished product in sight, the ark didn’t look nearly as spacious as it once did, nor did it project as a vessel of sturdiness. The whole thing looked a bit wobbly.

  A thought popped into Peter’s head, one he had considered earlier but at the time seemed too far away to take seriously: who was Josh planning on taking with him? There was no way Josh could fit more than a couple of people and animals comfortably. Would he go alone if no animals made reservations?

  Josh, however, didn’t seem ready to field questions at this time. As soon as he finished nailing the roof section, he scurried down the ladder
to cut another piece. He was moving around faster than Peter had ever seen.

  Peter stopped walking, thinking maybe he shouldn’t bother Josh. He clearly looked like he was working under a deadline. Then Josh saw them standing on the brown and stale grass and waved them over.

  “You look busy,” Peter said.

  “The rain is coming, Peter. I received word. CJ, how fast can you finish your painting?”

  “Fast,” CJ said, and sprinted off to the garage.

  Peter looked up to the sky. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks, but the sky did seem a shade darker since he’d walked out the front door.

  “When is it coming?” Peter asked.

  Josh penciled out his measured cut marks and looked around the ground for his circular saw. He had a frenzied look on his face. He looked at Peter, his face flushed. “Tonight, young Peter. The rain comes tonight.”

  Josh’s excitement made Peter’s heart beat a little faster. Peter heard CJ rattling around in the garage as Josh readied to make his cut. Instinctively, Peter held the end of the board to prevent the wood from splintering. Josh looked up at Peter and smiled. “You have done really well, young Peter. An assistant of the highest quality.”

  Peter felt his face redden.

  He helped Josh lift the cut piece of plywood to the roof of the ark, then stood back from the ladder. Once this piece was secured, one side of the roof would be complete.

  It took a few minutes, and Peter used the time to try to sort his thoughts. First of all, he liked Josh—one of the few people who took any interest in him. Well, Chipper had an interest in him, but not in a feel-good sense. If Josh was wrong about the flood, he’d be upset. But if he was right, then there were a whole lot of people in trouble very soon, Peter concluded.

  A movement from the driveway near the garage caught Peter’s eye. A tuxedo cat and a marble-gray tabby were sitting side by side, watching him.

  “Josh, who are you taking on the ark?” Peter needed to know. He couldn’t wait.