Chasing the Dream

by Paige Lee Elliston

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  Ben’s truck was backed up to the rear of the shop building, where a pile of large rough slabs of wood had been stacked. They went in a large side door. The air was hot in spite of a large pedestal fan and redolent with the fresh smell of sawdust. One of the slabs was resting on a pair of sawhorses.

  “This is going to be the top of a table,” Ben explained. “I’ve just started the rough sanding.” He pointed toward the front of the building, where a tarp covered a project. “My sideboard,” he said.

  Ben lifted the tarp carefully and then stood back. Amy gasped. The piece was massive, with six large drawers, a long, broad top surface, and eight cupboards awaiting doors. “It’s beautiful,” Amy said.

  “It’s bird’s-eye maple with walnut inlay,” Ben told her. “The materials alone cost a fortune, but once I got started with it I couldn’t back off. I’ve got the fittings on order, but there’s a ton of finish work before I hang them.”

  Amy watched Ben as he spoke. He was completely unself-conscious, in his glory describing something important to him, important to who he was. Like Jake talking about his horses... She chased the thought from her mind.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen where it’s a bit cooler and have something to drink,” Ben said.

  “Sounds good. And will I meet your father? I’ve been looking forward to that.”

  “Sorry, Amy, not this time. My cousin picked Dad up for a birthday party. He won’t be back until suppertime.”

  “Next time, then,” Amy said.

  The dogs were side by side in the shade of the house; they were both breathing heavily, with their tongues hanging out. “Little hot for more ripping around,” Ben said. “How about if I put them in the storm cellar to cool down for a bit?” When Amy agreed, he called Zack, opened the storm cellar door, and motioned the dog inside. Bobby followed his brother. “There’s water for them, and there’s nothing they can get into. They’ll be fine,” he assured Amy.

  The kitchen was cooler, and the iced coffee Ben served was tasty and refreshing. The conversation flowed easily, centered around their dogs at first and then moving on to more personal grounds.

  “Why no wife and family, Ben?” Amy asked. “You seem like the type of guy who’d love that life.”

  “I probably would,” Ben admitted. “I was pretty serious with a lady a couple of years ago.” Some pain showed in his eyes. “It... didn’t work out. She went off to work as a commercial artist at a big agency in Chicago. We talked about me following and opening a shop there—making cabinets and furniture. I went to Chicago.” He paused for a long moment. “There was no way I could live there. Even in the suburbs I felt boxed in, as if there were too many people in too little space. I met some of Sandy’s—that was her name—new friends. I didn’t like them, and they didn’t like me. So. Well... when I got back to Montana I wanted to get down and kiss the ground. And, here I am.”

  “Would your dad have gone with you—if you moved to Chicago, I mean?”

  Ben grinned ruefully. “He said he’d rather live with a permanent toothache. He was going to move in with my cousin here if I left. What about you, Amy? Anyone in your life?”

  Amy ran through a very abbreviated version of the story of Tom, the reconciliation, and the final breakup.

  “Tough,” Ben said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” She smiled and added, “Kind of.”

  They discovered mutual likes and dislikes. They both enjoyed blues music, Snyder’s pretzels, Red Delicious apples, poking around in antique stores and at flea markets. They agreed that there was no reason for cauliflower to exist anywhere in the universe.

  It was after three when Amy gathered up her dog and Ben walked with them to her Jeep. “I’ll call during the week,” he said. “Maybe we can do something together—dinner or something.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  As soon as she got into her kitchen, Amy clicked the switch to activate the ringer on her telephone. She hadn’t yet stepped away when it rang, startling her.

  “Amy Hawkins.”

  “Amy, I’m so glad I caught you. I was trying earlier, and the phone just rang and rang. Then, I thought maybe there was something wrong with your phone, and I checked with the operator, but she said it was in operation. Anyway, I’m sorry to be calling you—”

  “Julie?” Amy asked, barely recognizing her friend’s voice because of her breathless, almost frantic tone. “What’s the matter? You sound upset.”

  “I am upset, Amy. I know you told me at church you wanted to be left alone today, and now I’m bothering you like this, when you wanted some peace and quiet—”

  “Julie, hush! Come on—you’re not bothering me. Tell me what’s the matter, and tell me what I can do to help.”

  Amy heard Julie draw a long, shaky breath. “You’re the only one I could think of, Amy. The other reporter at the News-Express is on vacation in Hawaii, and there’s no one available to cover for me. I even called Brad, the sports guy, but he’s at the Porterville rodeo until tonight, and by then it’ll be too late.”

  “Too late for what? Slow down, Julie. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Julie still sounded close to tears, but she was able to slow her flood of words to a more natural pace. “OK. Here’s the problem. I’ve been following a human-interest story for a couple of months now. It’s about a local boy who’s going to achieve the status of Eagle Scout this evening at the Boy Scout investiture ceremony at the Chamber of Commerce building in town. His name’s Will Bennett. He has a degenerative spinal disease, and he’s in a wheelchair. But the attitude of this kid—he’s seventeen—is just amazing. To be an Eagle Scout has been his lifelong ambition, even after he was diagnosed and put in a chair. He’s fulfilled all the requirements he possibly could from his wheelchair, and the Scout council recognized that he deserves Eagle Scout status, so they decided to grant it to him, regardless of his handicap.”

  “That’s wonderful, Julie. Will sounds like a great kid. But what’s the problem? You said the council is ready to bring him in, right?”

  “They are. But I can’t be there to cover the story. I promised Will and his parents and the rest of the Scouts and Will’s teachers and just everyone in town that I’d be there to write about the ceremony. And now...”

  “Why can’t you be there? Has something happened to you or to Danny?”

  “No, we’re fine. It’s a... family emergency. I can’t go into it right now, but because of it, I can’t go to the investiture.” She drew a deep breath. “You’re the only real writer I know—the only real writer in Coldwater who doesn’t already work for the paper.”

  “Oh, Julie...”

  “I mean it, Amy. To a pro like you, covering something like this will be child’s play. Really. I only need maybe 750 words—900 at the outside. There’ll be a News-Express photographer there. And you can get more background from him. He’ll have the two pieces I’ve already done on Will with him too. Will you do it for me, Amy? The meeting’s at 6:30 tonight.”

  Julie’s heart was in her voice. Amy didn’t stop to consider her response. “Of course I will, Julie. But I’m concerned about you and your emergency. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Oh, Amy, thanks so much. Don’t worry about me. I mean it. I just can’t go into it right now, but Danny and I have to leave town for a couple of days. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. And thanks again.” Relief and joy were all but palpable in Julie’s voice.

  “Well... sure. No problem. You and Danny have a safe trip, and don’t you worry about anything here.”

  After she hung up the phone, Amy wandered back outside. She’d been keeping an eye on Bobby through the door window as she spoke with Julie and saw that he was now napping next to her lawn chair. She sat down.

  What have I done? she wondered as the full realization of what she’d committed to struck her. I haven’t been able to write a coherent word in weeks, she chided hers
elf. I’ll destroy this story that’s so important to Julie and to this boy, Will. Why didn’t I tell Julie what was going on? She’d have found someone else. There must be someone in Coldwater capable of writing a few words about a gutsy kid. Maybe even one of the boy’s parents, or what about an English teacher from the high school? It wasn’t fair of Julie to ask me to step in and...

  She sat up straight in the lawn chair, suddenly angry with herself. Not fair? What isn’t fair is my even giving a second to that kind of thought! Don’t friends help friends?

  She stood, woke Bobby, and led him into the kitchen, where she checked the clock. It was 4:20, giving her better than two hours until the meeting in town. The skirt and blouse she wore to church that morning, she decided, would be fine after a little touch up with her iron. A nice long shower would help relax her, and freshly shampooed hair always looked neat and businesslike. She had a fresh spiral pad in her desk in the den, and she’d bring the fancy Sheaffer fountain pen one of her writers had given her for Christmas a couple of years ago. She smiled. “I’m just like Lois Lane,” she said to her dog.

  The Chamber of Commerce building was what residents of Coldwater delighted in referring to as “our skyscraper.” A four-story brick structure built in the late 1950s, it had the architectural grace and appeal of an upended shoe box, but it served the community well and faithfully as a meeting place and headquarters for a number of diverse groups and organizations, from Alcoholics Anonymous to the Grange to Boy and Girl Scout chapters, as well as 4-H and the Montana Historical Society, Coldwater Office.

  There were a couple of pickups and cars in the parking lot when Amy arrived at 6:10 p.m. Bobby had protested when Amy clicked the chain to his collar outside her garage, whining deep in his throat as if accusing Amy of desertion and other unspeakable cruelties. She had no idea how long the meeting would last, however, and was sure the puppy would be better off at home rather than waiting for her in the Jeep in a parking lot.

  Amy locked her vehicle and, steno pad in hand, crossed the asphalt lot to the big double-door entrance. She felt almost barefoot in her low-heeled shoes; wearing boots had become a way of life for her. She smiled a bit at what she was feeling: a nervousness, an attack of butterflies in her stomach, that she hadn’t experienced since she began her last major editing project with the writer of bestselling romance novels. This will be good for me, she thought. I’ll be doing a favor for a friend, I’ll meet some new neighbors—and I’ll write some words for publication. It’s not my novel, but it’s writing, and that’s what I need to do. This might be a step in the right direction.

  The sensation that something was wrong—or at least different—tickled Amy’s mind as she entered the building and began following the cardboard signs bearing the familiar Boy Scout symbol. She stopped in the hall for a moment, and then the sensation defined itself. I’m going into a civic building, and there’s no armed guard and no metal detector. No one waved a techno-wand over my body, and no one pawed through the contents of my purse. It was a good feeling, a small thing perhaps, but something that made her once again glad she’d moved to Coldwater.

  The auditorium had about a hundred seats that faced a stage with a central podium and a long table placed ten feet behind it. Amy introduced herself to a white-haired man who was fiddling with a microphone at the podium.

  “I’m Amy Hawkins,” she said. “I’m here for Julie Pulver and the News-Express. Julie couldn’t make it...”

  The man extended his hand. “I hope Julie’s not ill or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. She’d been looking forward to this.”

  “We all have. This is a big occasion for the boys and their families.” He nodded back at the table. “Just take a seat, Amy. The others will be along shortly. Oh, I’m Charlie Derwick, by the way. I’m the MC.”

  “I don’t need to be up here, Charlie,” Amy protested. “I’ll find a seat in the audience.”

  “Nonsense.” Charlie smiled. “As I said, this is a big deal for us. We’d like the press represented and visible, along with the others at the table. Go on now—make yourself comfortable.”

  Amy smiled graciously. “I’ll be glad to,” she said. “Thanks.” Feeling a tad self-conscious, Amy walked to the table and took the end seat. The auditorium was beginning to fill, and the buzz of conversation increased. Two men, both Boy Scout officials in full uniform, and a pair of women, the town historian and the assistant to the mayor, joined Amy. Introductions were made, and Amy fielded questions about Julie, assuring the others that there was no real problem—simply a conflict in scheduling. The mayor of Coldwater was the last to be seated at the table.

  The ceremony started precisely on time. The new Eagle Scouts were good-looking young men, Amy thought. Clear-eyed and straight-backed, they stood at attention as their names were called to step up and receive the honor they were there for.

  The rubber tires of Will Bennett’s wheelchair squeaked on the polished floor as he rolled to center stage and shook the hand of the master of ceremonies. Then, he spoke, holding the microphone a little too close to his face. “Sorry,” he said as a squeal of static jolted the audience. His words, quite obviously memorized, were nevertheless honest and compelling.

  “I don’t want to be thought of as the guy in the wheelchair,” he said. “I want to be thought of as the Eagle Scout. That’s more important than the way I get around these days...”

  Amy scratched a few key words on the first page of her pad, knowing that what she’d seen and heard and stored away in her mind would be more important to the story than the quick impressions she registered at the time. The applause for Will Bennett was, of course, thunderous. Amy spoke to the young man and his parents afterward, explained Julie’s absence, and learned more about young Will. He was, she decided, exactly what he seemed to be: a kid who’d had a lousy break but had survived it and was making a life for himself. He told her he wanted to be a science teacher. Amy could see him at age twenty-five or so, with at least a master’s degree behind him, rolling into a classroom of enthusiastic kids. It was a good picture. Amy was certain she could write about what she was thinking and convey it to Julie’s readers. Or—to my readers?

  There was still some sunlight as Amy drove home from the Chamber building, but the light was soft and the few clouds at the western horizon seemed to be sinking with the sun.

  Bobby had stepped in or otherwise upended his water dish and had tossed his toy a foot beyond the reach that his chain afforded him, so he was more than usually ecstatic to see Amy. She unclipped the chain and watched the pup, smiling as he ran off almost three hours of stored-up energy. The puppy raced in circles, barked at nothing, dashed back to Amy, and then took off again. When his tongue was hanging out and he was breathing hard from his frolic, Amy led him into the house. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock. She had no idea what time Jake would get back from Porterville.

  Nutsy wound his way between her feet as she stood at the kitchen counter and put a filter, coffee, and water into her Mr. Coffee. She picked the cat up and sat at the kitchen table, cuddling him. His purring sounded as loud as a chain saw in the stillness of the house.

  “Poor Nutsy,” she said to him, scratching under his chin, a favorite spot of the cat’s. “Don’t you forget that you were here first—that Bobby came after you. You were the first one in my heart.” Nutsy writhed in her arms. She lowered her head and nuzzled him, breathing in the clean scent of his coat, feeling the vibration of his almost ecstatic purring. It was a good moment and too soon over.

  The Mr. Coffee began its “I’m ready” gurgling, and Bobby, jealous, pawed at her. Amy set Nutsy on the floor, checked the food and water bowls of both of her pets, poured a mug of coffee, and sat at the table behind her keyboard. She started the laptop and listened to its whirs and snaps until the system was ready. She shut down the page of her novel that appeared on the screen, opened a new document, and centered on the blank screen the title she’d decided upon during the driv
e home: “An Evening of Honor—A Young Man’s Dream Fulfilled.” The cursor pulsed at the beginning of the line that would begin the text. She drank from her cup and then set it aside.

  The cursor continued its perfectly synchronized blinking.

  Nothing happened. The impressions of the evening, the bits and parts of it that had touched Amy, were still present, but the words she needed to describe them to readers didn’t appear on the screen. Her fingers were poised and ready to type, but there were no signals from her heart reaching them. She closed her eyes, seeing Will Bennett’s face, seeing the love and pride in the eyes of his mother, hearing the applause for this singular teenager. No words came.

  I am not going to allow this to happen. I will write this little bit of an article.

  The squeak of the tires of Will’s wheelchair against the floor was a visual and auditory impression Amy wanted to convey—how the tiny sound was loud in the hush of the auditorium, and how it was shared by all present. The image—the concept—had stayed with her since the very second it happened. It was the protest of a sneaker against a gym floor—something Will would never cause by himself. It was the smallest part of the evening, the most miniscule part of what she had experienced, yet it somehow represented as much as the speeches and the applause.

  The words didn’t come easily. She had to drag each one out of her mind as if they were nailed there. Sentences took forever; paragraphs much longer.

  Shortly before midnight Amy had about eight hundred words. She printed out her work, sat back in her chair, and looked at her opening line and first paragraph.

  The squeal of a sneaker on the polished surface of a high school gymnasium floor as he makes a fast break toward the hoop is a sound that Will Bennett will never generate. He won’t swing casually aboard a horse as so many Coldwater young people do, and he won’t experience the first-love closeness of dancing with his girlfriend at the senior prom. He will, however, wear the uniform and insignia of an Eagle Scout as he sits in