by R. J. Blacks
“She’s not there anymore.”
“Did she move?”
“She passed away, five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was living with my brother in Florida,” he says. “Didn’t like it much in Butler. After my father ran off, the folks around there kept their distance. And the fact she was Seminole didn’t help any.”
“Your mother was Native American?”
“She met my dad in Florida; he was a ranch hand at the time. They got married and moved to Georgia where he was originally from. He was Creek. Seminoles came from the Creek, but they broke off and developed their own culture.”
“Did she like Georgia?”
“We were happy, or so I thought. Then, one day, when I was ten, my dad left and never came back. I would ask my mother where Dad was and my mother would always say he’s on a business trip. My mom would leave the light on every night waiting for him to come home, but he never did. Then, a couple of years after I joined the Navy, she and my brother packed their belongings and moved to Florida. She told me once she just wanted to be around her own people.”
“Where is your dad?”
“Probably dead. He drank a lot, didn’t take care of himself.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had opened a can of worms and didn’t know how to close it.
“Your mother, was she happy in Florida?” I ask.
“I think she was. She met up with her old friends and went back to practicing the Native American culture which made her happy. She raised my brother in the customs of the tribe so he could pass on the family traditions. I think she always regretted leaving Florida after she got married but felt obligated to follow her husband. When we was living in Georgia I could tell she longed for the old country and it pained her. Maybe it all worked out for the best in the end.”
“How long was she in Florida?”
“Well, I was nineteen when she moved. I’m forty four now, and figuring she passed five years ago, that’s...”
“Twenty years,” I say.
“Yeah, twenty years.”
“Is your brother younger or older?”
“Younger. My dad ran off just before he was born. Life was tough after that. My mother couldn’t support the three of us by herself so I had to work. When the other kids would show off their sneakers or some other new thing they got, I would pretend I was happy with the old ones I had. I knew my mother couldn’t afford it so there was no point in even asking.”
It occurs to me how strange this is; two people, me from the city and he from the country, separated by more than a decade and a thousand miles, brought together, under the most unlikely of circumstances. We have absolutely nothing in common, yet have everything in common, two souls, trying to make sense of the fog of life. And now, we’re helping each other reach our goals with nothing to give except our friendship. It boggled my mind.
“And after you left, what did your mom do?” I ask.
“Well my brother was six so he could pretty much take care of himself. He wasn’t working yet, but I would send them my pay from the Navy, all except fifty bucks for myself. That money paid the rent on that small house they was living in, and there was even a little left over for some new clothes. When I would come visit, which was about every six months, they would tell me how much they appreciated it, and I could see it in their eyes.”
I do a quick calculation; Will was ten when his brother was born. That puts them ten years apart making his brother thirty four.
“What’s your brother like?” I ask.
“He’s about my height, dark hair.”
I’m five foot three and Will is a foot taller, so that would make him six foot three.
“Oh, he has a bit of a temper,” he adds.
“Is he mean to you?”
“Naw. If he starts to yell I just remind him I changed his diapers and that usually shuts him up.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s got this business where he takes tourists out on a boat and tells them about nature.”
“Is he married?” I ask.
“Doesn’t have time for a wife. Tells me the business takes up too much of his time.”
I decide I’ve taken this far enough so I change the subject. “Hungry?”
“I think we should keep going,” he says. “I’m fine with snacking. We’re running out of time, and I want to get there before dark.”
“How much further?”
“I’m figuring about five and a half hours including gas stops. That gets us there about five o’clock, about an hour before sunset. Plenty of time to get settled.”
We cross into Florida at a quarter past one. The first thing we come to is a rest stop with this huge sign:
“Welcome to Florida”
I just have to stop and get a picture to record my first trip to the sunshine state so I ask Will to pull into the parking lot. Will accommodates me, and then, I hand him my camera. I run over and pose next to the sign. He takes a couple of shots from different angles, “in case one doesn’t come out,” he says. Will hands me back the camera which I place into the Cruiser.
“I’d suggest using the rest room,” he says. “Once we get into Jacksonville, there won’t be anywhere to stop, unless we leave the interstate. And that would be a real hassle.”
I do what he says and Will does the same. We get back into the Cruiser and Will eases into traffic.
The next four and a half hours are uneventful except for the palm trees along the side of the road and the necessity of auto air conditioning, both of which remind me we are now in a tropical climate. The excitement builds as we approach our turnoff. I think back over our two-day ordeal and how Will’s travel experience has kept us out of trouble. He’s been a great companion and I’m so glad he agreed to come. The PT Cruiser has performed flawlessly and that has been a real blessing. In just over an hour we will be at our destination and both of us will be embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. We’ve successfully come this far. Nothing can stop us now.
CHAPTER 12
Will pulls off the interstate and onto a local four-lane highway lined with gas stations and restaurants. As we get further from the interstate, we enter cattle country with grazing land on both sides, as far as the eye can see. The area reminds me of Texas, or at least what I imagined Texas would look like. The road turns into a two lane highway with no sign of human activity anywhere, just miles and miles of open land with an occasional tree to break up the monotony. Will speeds up to seventy. The sun has now become a huge yellow ball on the horizon, but still not quite ready to set yet.
“Where is your brother’s place?” I ask.
“It’s on the St. John’s River, near Lake George.”
“Do you know how to get there?”
“Sure, we just follow this road for about an hour.”
“Will he be expecting us?”
“Mmm,” he says. “I guess I should have told him which day we would be arriving.”
“What if he’s not home?”
“That could be a problem. We’ll just play it by ear when we arrive.”
Suddenly I’m anxious again. It’s Monday night and I have the most important meeting of my life with Dr. Jessica Parker on Wednesday. I desperately need this job so I have access to the lab. If I blow this, my chances of getting another shot at a PhD go instantly to zero.
I try to relax; I still have Tuesday to prepare. I gaze out the window to a world I have never seen before. The grazing land is now broken up with small lakes and canals. There are pools of water along both sides of the road. I scan for alligators, but either they’re not around or doing a good job of hiding. But I do see a lot of birds. This must be feeding time because they’re everywhere. I check out a small nature book I brought with me, “Guide to Florida Birds”. I see Herons, Egrets, Ospreys, Hawks, Sandhill Cranes, and a few more I am not able to identify.
Will slows the car to about fifty.
“What’s the matter?�
� I ask.
“We should be coming up to the turnoff soon,” he says.
Straight ahead, we come upon a billboard that looks like it hasn’t been painted in a decade. On it are faded pictures of alligators and the words, “Alligator Park” in red letters. Right below it says, “Nature Tours” and under that, “Fun for All Ages”.
“That’s my brother’s place,” he says.
Will eases the PT Cruiser onto a small road on the right about a quarter mile after the sign. The road is poorly kept with potholes and gravel in places and only wide enough for one car. And there’s not a sole around.
“Sure this is the right road?” I ask.
“Oh yes. I remember it well.”
“Shouldn’t there be cars leaving about now?”
“I think he’s closed Monday. That’s why there’s no one around.”
Will’s gotten us this far so I have no reason to doubt his skills now. I watch the sun’s fiery ball drop to the horizon as Will drives deeper into the swampland. I roll down the window and can hear the chatter of a thousand birds roosting for the night. It will be dark soon, and I’m getting a little worried. What if this isn’t the right road and we break down or run out of gas. The gas gauge is getting low and for all I know the nearest gas station could be sixty miles from here. I check my cellphone in case we need to call for help and realize there’s no service. It’s too far to the nearest cell tower. If we got stranded out here what would we do? No one would even know we were here.
I catch glimpses of the swamp as Will drives by groups of Palm trees and Cypress on the side of the road. My imagination wanders recklessly. I start to imagine hundreds of alligators waiting patiently just below the waterline, waiting for us to break down and become their prey. In the darkness they would stalk us, setting us up for the kill. There’s no way I could sleep out here all night, even in the car. There are spiders and snakes and who knows what else in the swamp and it wouldn’t take much for them to crawl through the smallest openings in the car body.
“This road appears to be going nowhere,” I say. “Maybe we should turn around.”
“It’s okay. Just a little further.”
Will continues to push deeper into the swamp. It’s dark now and all I can see is the road in front illuminated by the headlights.
We pass a sign: “Entering Seminole Reservation”.
“This is Indian land?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says.
“Is it safe?”
“Safe from what?”.
“I mean, are we allowed to be here?”
“Not really.”
“What about tourists?”
“They have to leave before dark. Tribal rules. Only Indians on the rez after sundown.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“Don’t you remember? I told you we needed to be on the road by eight.”
“You didn’t say it was because of this.”
“It was already too late. And I didn’t want to worry you.”
“So what happens if they see us?”
“You mean the Indians?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll probably put up a barricade. Then they’ll take us to the tribal elders and decide whether to fine us or put us in jail,” he says. “They have their own laws.”
I suddenly panic.
“Maybe we should come back during the day,” I say, trying to hide my anxiety.
“It’s too late,” he says, with a somber look on his face. “I saw a lookout back there with a police radio.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“You’ve got to know where to look.”
Will backs off the accelerator allowing the car to slow down. My heart starts pounding.
“When they pull us over, let me do all the talking. I might be able to talk our way out of it.”
“You think so?” I say.
“Sure. The worst that would happen is you’d have to spend a night in jail. I’ll get you out somehow,” he says. “How much you got?”
“A couple of thousand.”
“Yeah, that should do it.”
“What about you?”
“I’m Indian, remember?” he says, and then looks at me with this really serious look on his face.
Then he bursts out laughing.
“You jerk,” I say, realizing it was all an act. Will looks at me and is laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes. I notice the car veering off the road and towards the swamp.
“Watch out,” I say, as the vehicle bounces over potholes in the sandy shoulder. Will snaps his attention to the emerging danger then wrestles the car back onto the road.
“You almost got us killed.”
“It was nothing. I had it under control the whole time.”
I maintain the “mad” look on my face just to make a point, but secretly I’m glad to see Will happy. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen him laugh and he appears to be excited to see his brother. He’s suffered too long; he deserves better. Will continues the pace for another twenty minutes, getting us deeper and deeper into the swamp.
Then a light in the distance. I can’t quite make it out, but as we get closer I can see it’s another sign for Alligator Park, faded and barely readable. Will pulls into a parking area and then stops the Cruiser next to a building. From what I can see, it’s entirely of wood planks, unpainted and in poor repair. The light on the porch gives a small amount of illumination, but the surrounding forest is dark. Will shuts off the engine.
“Is he home?” I ask.
“Don’t know. Let’s take a look.”
Will and I climb up some stairs leading to the porch.
“Thump-thump-thump,” I hear, as Will pounds on the front door. I peek in the window, but everything is dark inside.
“Thump-thump-thump,” I hear again.
Will puts his ear to the door and listens carefully, but there is no sound from anywhere inside the house.
“I guess we missed him,” he says.
“Do you know where he hangs out?” I ask.
“That’s hard to say. He could be in a number of places. I think we should just wait here.”
I’m not crazy about the idea because we don’t know if he even stays here at night. I’m about to raise my objections when Will settles into one of two white wooden Cape Cod style recliners arranged on the porch to take full advantage of the spectacular view. There’s not much I can do at this point so I plop into the chair next to him.
The porch overlooks a vast expanse of water, so large the far side is not visible. The sun is now well below the horizon, but the afterglow provides enough light to make out the silhouettes of some islands in the distance. The sounds of frogs, crickets, birds, and some sounds I’ve never heard before penetrate the night air, but noticeably absent are the sounds of cars or trucks or anything that would remotely remind you of civilization. Occasionally we see the red and green flashing lights of an airliner at very high altitude, heading south, probably on its way to Miami, but still no sound.
“How long do you want to wait?” I ask.
“A bit,” he says.
I’m not sure how long “a bit” is, but it’s probably longer than fifteen minutes. I get up and walk past Will.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To the car, to get some snacks.”
“Bring me something.”
I guess that’s Will’s way of letting me know we’re not going out to dinner tonight. Back at the car I discover our inventory of snacks is getting low, but I manage to find some yogurt cups and breakfast bars. I grab a couple of sodas to round out the meal and bring it all back to the porch. I share what I have with Will then settle back in the chair scanning the sky for meteors.
“Interesting how there’s no mosquitoes tonight,” I say.
“The insects down here aren’t used to this weather,” he says.
“It’s not cold.”
“Not to us. But whenever the temperature drops
below the mid-sixties, the bugs go dormant. It stays like this until June.”
I’m fine with that. I was thinking I’d have to fight off those Gallinippers, mega-sized mosquitoes that sting like a wasp. Now I don’t have to worry about it until June.
I hear what sounds like a motorcycle way off in the distance. As the sound gets louder it begins to sound more like an airplane flying low. Occasionally the motor would sputter, hesitate, then come back to life, as if it was having engine trouble. As it gets louder I realize it isn’t coming from the sky, it’s coming from the lake. Out of the blackness I see headlights coming right for us. The engine is sputtering frequently now, threatening to stop at any moment.
“That’s him now,” Will says.
“Who?”
“My brother.”
“Does he have a seaplane?” I ask.
“That’s not a seaplane. That’s a... well you’ll find out.”
The light from the porch reflects off the shiny metallic hull of what appears to be a flat-bottomed boat. It approaches the dock, and the engine drops to an idle, imitating the low-pitched rumble of a custom street rod. As the boat contacts the pier, I can see it’s an airboat. I’ve seen airboats on TV and in the movies, but never up close, and I’ve always wanted to ride in one.
A man jumps onto the pier and ties up the boat, leaving the engine running. He reaches into a box on the dock, takes out some tools, and then hops back onto the airboat, unaware we are watching him from the porch. I see him making adjustments to the engine. It speeds up, slows down, then stops abruptly.
“Damn it,” he shouts out.
He reaches over to the dock, stretching to retrieve a tool, but it slips out of his hand and drops into the water.
“Son of a bitch,” he says, and jumps into the waist-deep water. He removes his shirt and feels around the bottom until he locates the missing tool. He climbs back into the airboat and resumes his work. I get up to go down to the dock, but Will grabs my arm.
“Stay here until I talk to him.”
“He knows we’re coming, doesn’t he?” I ask.
“He knows ‘I’m’ coming, didn’t tell him about you.”
“Is that a problem?”
