My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  top, it was our secret bank. He told me if anything ever happened to be sure and take the money to the bank. I felt proud that my dad trusted me with a secret only we shared. I would sit in class, look around, and think, I’ll bet none of you have a secret bank.

  Following his example, on the opposite side of the shed I created my own secret hiding place for special stash. Dad had an old anvil, really big. It was on a stand, which was on floorboards just like those in front of the workbench. One board, right in the middle, went through the upside-down V-shaped anvil stand, which left it free of the stand. I carefully lifted one end of the board to free it from the others and dug my little safe deposit box hole right under the anvil.

  My stash didn’t include any money. Instead, there was a picture of Mom and one of the three of us, Dad’s old handkerchief, Mom’s colorful flowered hankie, a newspaper article about Dad’s store, a couple of baseball cards, my favorite pocket knife, Mom’s fake pearl necklace and clip-on earrings, and two of my lead soldiers—I figured they would guard everything in the box.

  10

  Escape

  I HAD ONLY A COUPLE OF DAYS TO PLAN MY ESCAPE—Mrs. Bitch and foster hell were not in my future, no way. I made a list of things I would need and began collecting and marking them off one by one. I stashed everything in Dad’s shop. I found his old army backpack hanging from a rafter. It had a frame and adjustable shoulder straps, with pockets everywhere. I had used it before and knew that if it were full, it would be too heavy to handle on my bike. I couldn’t take the Coleman camp stove, it was too big. I filled the kerosene lantern and returned it to the metal container, twisting it closed. Along with the flashlight, I packed replacement batteries and the fold-up cook set. I filled a small jar with matches, found my hatchet, sleeping bag, a blanket, a ball of string, some rope, Dad’s two-piece fishing pole and reel, and I made sure I had enough hooks, sinkers, and lures. By the time I was done packing everything on my list, there was little room left for food.

  They had given me my dad’s wallet after he died. It was in my back pocket and it helped me feel his presence. When I went through it, I saw business cards and things I didn’t know anything about, so I took them out and put them in the top drawer of his dresser. He had photos, a lot of photos. There was one of Dad on the bed, in only his pajama bottoms, and I was on his chest, my arms stretched out over his shoulders, and my face toward the camera. I smiled. His big hand was resting on my back. I loved the photo.

  Money! Because of Dad’s foresight, I would have enough to take care of myself. I went to his secret place in the shop, removed the zipper bank bag, and took it to the kitchen. Inside was a stack of bills over an inch thick. I didn’t dare keep it in the backpack in case something happened to it. But where?

  Back in the shop, I found his work pouch with an old army belt. I slipped the pouch off the belt, put the stack of bills on the workbench, and with scissors I cut a slit the width of the belt at each end of the moneybag right under the zipper. I fed the belt through the slits and wrapped it around my chest over my t-shirt, with the bag in the middle just above my belly. Slipping on my sweatshirt hid it from sight.

  I picked up the stack of bills and counted thirty-four one-hundred dollar bills, twenty-two fifties, and thirty-five twenties. I felt rich. I thought about Matt having to steal to eat and wished I could have given him some money. I thought about waiting until I moved in with Matt, and then we would run away together, but I didn’t want to risk having to go back to such a horrible place. Surely, Momma Bitch would find a way to take all my dad’s money from me.

  Our tent was too heavy to take with me, but Dad had a light tarp he’d put the tent on. I rolled it up and tied it to the bottom of the backpack along with the sleeping bag, wool blanket, and fishing pole. I figured when it rained, I could use it to make a lean-to for protection. I also took Dad’s poncho, which would fit over the backpack and me.

  I needed as much of a head start as possible before Stewart noticed I had run away. It was Friday evening and dinnertime. Stewart was taking hamburgers off the grill for dinner. Madge had chips and

  drinks out along with the buns and stuff for the burgers. At dinner, after a few bites of my hamburger, I said, “Tomorrow I’m going to go fishing down at the river where Dad and I fished a lot. I’ll take the sleeping bag and camp out and be back Sunday. Maybe I’ll bring us some fish to eat.”

  Stewart looked at me, a bit worried. “Hey, I can go with you.”

  I took a deep breath and was about to tell him he didn’t need to when Madge saved the day. “No, you can’t. You have way too much to do around here this weekend.” The boss had spoken.

  “Well, you tell me where it is and I’ll come by Saturday night and just camp out with you.”

  I looked at him. “You don’t need to. Dad and I have camped overnight a lot there, and I’d just rather be by myself if it’s okay.”

  Madge jumped right in again. “I think that’s really nice, Jory. It’s probably a good way to remember your dad, fishing and all.”

  “Yeah, we really caught some nice fish there and we even had a lean-to in the woods to sleep under.” No, we didn’t; we’d use the tent.

  “Well, okay, Jory,” Stewart said, “but you be really careful. Can I take you there?”

  “Oh, no, I’ll ride my bike. It’s not far.”

  “You bring us back some nice bass, okay?”

  “I’ll try. Oh, I’m staying at Dad’s house tonight. Is that all right?”

  “Sure, Jory, that’s fine.”

  11

  Fragrance of Loss

  I FOUND MYSELF BACK IN MY DAD’S BEDROOM and realized he had not made his bed. He seldom left his bed unmade. I once asked him why he just didn’t leave it, especially since no one would see it and he’d be back in it that night. He told me Mom always made it because it made her feel good, and he did it because it made him think of her. However, on the day he died, it was unmade. It seemed fitting.

  I crawled onto his bed and put my head on his pillow. I smelled him again. I inhaled deeply, trying to hold on to the last of him, now mere fragrance on fabric. I knew it too would soon be gone. I pulled my face hard into the pillow, figuring that if I suffocated myself, I could be with him again, but that lasted only until I needed air. I lay there every bit as confused as the day he died. I felt a tear leave the corner of my eye while another crossed the bridge of my nose. I wanted to bawl my eyes out, loudly, but my mind was too busy trying to figure out what tomorrow held. I couldn’t stop wondering, thinking. Oddly enough, I was too scared to cry.

  I looked around his room, wondering what was to become of all his things. I wanted to be older so I could take charge of his stuff and keep everything the same. Who was in charge? Who would determine tomorrow and the future of all this around me? I held my breath and felt my heart pound in worry. Life was going to change for me, no doubt about that. I curled up into a ball on my side, more afraid than I had ever been in my life. I pulled his sheet over my head, to hide from tomorrow, and I found myself angry with Stewart. If he was really Dad’s best friend, why was he letting Dad down? How could he send me away?

  Stewart liked me a lot. Just days ago, he had stuck up for me, but eventually gave up. Sitting on the bed in their guest room, I heard loud talking, so I opened the door to listen and heard Stewart say, “Not so loud, I don’t want Jory to hear us.”

  I crept down the hall and leaned against the wall where it opened to the stairwell. They were directly below in the dining room, and I could smell coffee and hear cups clink onto saucers.

  “Oh, Stewart, I love the boy, but we can’t raise him. I’m too old to take care of a little boy, and so are you.”

  “No, I’m not. That kid is scared to death. Just look into his eyes. He’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever known, and he won’t be any trouble. Who’s he got if not us?”

  “I don’t care how cute or good he is, I’m just too damn old, and this is too much to expect. I’ve had one heart attack and I�
��m supposed to slow down. You know what the doctor said. He doesn’t even want me working at the grill.”

  “Madge, the poor boy doesn’t have anyone but us. He’ll be put in a foster home somewhere.”

  “So what’s the difference if he’s with us or someone else?”

  “What kind of question is that? He knows us. We are his friends, and we care for him. No telling what he’ll get in a foster home.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a foster home. They’re nice people, too. I’m not raising the boy, period. Now that’s all there is too it, Stewart.”

  I was dizzy with questions. What was a foster home anyway? Where would I be? What about my friends, Russell and Brandon—would I see them? What about my home and things? I leaned against the wall, my whole life in doubt. Nothing was certain except I was going somewhere I didn’t want to. I wanted to scream, Don’t give in Stewart, please!

  Madge was the boss of the house. She seemed to decide everything, and Stewart always agreed. In fact, I never had heard them argue. Dad had told me once, “Madge wears the pants in that family.” I realized now what he meant.

  But surely, Stewart would insist. Crossing my fingers on both hands, I sent Stewart my hope. Please, please, please, Stewart, please.

  “Let’s just give it a try. If he’s any problem whatsoever, he can go to a foster home. Okay?”

  Thank you, Stewart. I’ll never be a problem, never. You’ll be so glad.

  “Stewart, I said no! I’m not talking about this anymore. I know what’s best for us and the boy.”

  “His name is Jory, Madge, not Boy!” he said.

  “Don’t you talk to me like that!”

  My heart sank; he was losing and losing badly. I heard Stewart’s cup settle noisily on the saucer, his chair slide from the table, and footsteps. I turned and disappeared into my room, and moments later, I heard the door to their bedroom slam. I wanted to tell him to put on some bigger pants than Madge’s and go back downstairs and tell her she had no choice.

  I could barely think, let alone sleep. I put my hands over my face, shoved my face hard into the pillow, and screamed.

  The next morning, Stewart came into my room and sat on the bed. “You don’t have to go to school if you don’t want to. It’s up to you.”

  “No, I don’t want to go.”

  “Okay. I’ll call the school, then I’m going to go open the store. You can stay here, and I’ll come by at lunch.”

  “No, I’m going home. I’ll stay there.” The last thing I wanted to do was be somewhere where I could accidentally run into Madge.

  “That’s fine. Will you be okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jory, I…I’m trying to work some things out, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  I didn’t say anything. I sat up. He looked unhappy and his eyes were wet. I think he was getting ready to cry when he rubbed my head and told me to call the store if I needed anything.

  I got dressed and went downstairs. Stewart was gone and Madge was in the kitchen. She heard me come down the stairs. “Jory, come get breakfast.”

  I walked into the kitchen, but I didn’t want to look at her. “How do you like your eggs?”

  I didn’t answer. “Jory?”

  “I’m not hungry. I’m just going to the house.”

  “No, you’re not. Not without a nice breakfast. Do you like scrambled eggs?”

  I nodded, and in a few minutes, eggs and toast were in front of me, along with a glass of milk. “Thank you very much,” I said, hoping she’d see how polite I was and how nice it would be to have me around. I had to convince her. I ate my breakfast and got up. I’d show her how nice it would be if I lived there. “I’ll wash the breakfast dishes. I always did them at home.” No I didn’t. Dad did.

  “No, sweetheart, but thank you. Stewart said you’re not going to school today. If you need anything, you can call me at the restaurant.”

  I would never call her. Not now, not ever. I nodded.

  “I can take you to your house on the way to work.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  I felt the tumblers move along the brass key as it slid into the keyhole. I had never noticed that before. I turned my fingers, feeling and hearing a loud clunk as the bolt pulled out of the door jam. Twisting the cold, round doorknob, I pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the living room. I looked left, right, and left again, as what I saw spawned apprehension and the fear of leaving the only home I had ever known.

  The compulsion to take in the sight of every object in the room came over me. Everything I saw was my dad, everything in the house his doing—paintings on the walls, furniture, the fish carvings he had done, his fish knickknacks. Everything there was Dad—but Dad was not there. Like a stone in the ocean, I sank deeper and deeper into the cold, dark abyss of loneliness.

  Don’t you know how much I need you? Don’t you know how unfair this is? For heaven’s sake, Dad, I don’t know what to do.

  My thoughts took me downtown with my father on Main Street when I was only six. He was ahead of me, walking his usual half-run, very intent on getting somewhere quickly. On the ground in an alley, something caught my eye, so I went over to investigate. It was a tube that had once housed a cigar. How many things could I stash in this new container? Wiping it on my jeans, I went back to the sidewalk—Dad was nowhere in sight. I headed in the direction we had been going and saw other people, but not Dad. Panic struck like lightning. The tiny space I occupied became a universe of terror. My own hometown became a war zone of emotional panic. My dad was no longer there to protect me. I backed up against a brick wall and wanted to cry out in fear, but at the same time, I didn’t want to be a scaredy-cat. My pulse doubled and my vision started to blur with tears. How would I survive lost and alone? I had never been so frightened. I heard a whimper of panic in the back of my throat.

  As my hands went to my face, I saw someone coming toward me. I half smiled in relief and half cried at the helplessness of being lost. I ran toward him, and he reached down as I reached up, grabbed me under my arms, and swung me up to his shoulder. He pulled me into him as if we had just found each other after an eternity apart—it had been. He gripped me hard and I strangled him, whimpering and shuddering.

  “It’s okay, partner. Sorry I walked too fast. My mind was somewhere else and I didn’t pay attention to my buddy.”

  My heart thundered as I squeezed harder. I wanted never to let go. I was unable to speak.

  “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay.” He rocked me back and forth. “I won’t leave you alone again, never, I promise.” He rubbed the back of my head, turned around, and we started back down the sidewalk.

  I stood in the living room, knowing Dad would never again stand here with me. “I won’t leave you alone again, never, I promise.” But he left me. He broke his promise, and this time, it was for good. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to look back on promises made, promises with no guarantee, promises that could not be part of my future, promises not kept. It’s not such a good idea to promise a future you cannot control, yet he did. How could he? How could he not stay alive? He was the strongest man ever. He could do anything. Surely, he could keep his word.

  I felt exactly as I had when I was backed against the wall, lost and alone in panic. Only now, I knew I was not going to look up and see my dad running toward me, arms open. I knew he would not be back to save me. I closed my eyes and thought of him inside a coffin, panicking because he wanted to rescue me again. I saw him banging up at the lid, imprisoned on the inside, pushing, hammering, trying desperately to get out and lift his best friend, his son, to his shoulder, and repeat what he had promised. “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. I won’t leave you alone again, never, I promise.”

  This time, I had only a lonely house. I hated promises. I hated loneliness. I hated life. I hated Dad for dying.

  Dad and I had built a tree house in the huge oak tree in the backyard. It had a porc
h at the front three boards wide. I climbed to it and sat down, my feet dangling, and thought about all the fun we’d had building it. Looking at the ground far below, I was on the edge of that cliff to nothingness, a tree holding me high above tomorrow. I looked down and saw a void, yet I saw an answer that would free me from the chaos. If I fell off the cliff, I’d merely fall forever and have no worry, because there was no bottom. I wouldn’t have to deal with the unknown or the fear. If I dived into nothingness, I would be with Dad, together again, wherever it is you went when you died. I’d be with Dad.

  I stood up, held on to the limb just above my head, and peered over the cliff—then I released my grip. Fall forward. Just fall head first and there will be no more worry. Fall forward and I can join my dad, my mom.

  “Remember, son, there’s only one person on this earth who can make you happy or sad, and that person is you,” I heard his voice. I knew he was trying to convince me not to jump, but he was wrong. Dad made me happy, and he was gone.

  “Jory!”

  Stewart yelled my name. Startled, I felt my heart leap. I leaned back against the tree house, breathed heavily, and realized I had almost dropped out of the tree right in front of Stewart. He yelled again and I shouted, “Up here!”

  He could barely see me. “You in your tree house?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on down, okay?”

  I did, only to be told that the woman from the State agency was to come by tomorrow.

  12

  Pedaling Hard

  I PLANNED TO LEAVE AT DUSK. It occurred to me that, unless I left a letter telling Stewart I had taken off on my own, he would have everyone searching for me, thinking maybe I had drowned. But if I did leave a letter, they would know I had run away and would send the police after me. I decided to call him Sunday, about the time I would have returned home, to tell him I had to leave because I couldn’t live in that place, and ask him not to look for me.