My Life as a Bigfoot Breath Mint

by Bill Myers

  WHOOSH-DING, WHOOSH-DING,

  WHOOSH-DING . . .

  I had no idea where I was going, but at least I was protected. At least I was safe inside my—

  KLUNK-THUD.

  Well, I had been safe. Unfortunately the KLUNK was me bouncing off the front end of the tank. And the THUD was me falling to the ground.

  But this didn’t bother me as much as the next sound.

  CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH,

  CRUNCH . . .

  Obviously, my tuba got caught up in the tank treads. Even that wasn’t so bad, compared to the very last sound I heard.

  “AUGH . . . HHH . . . HHH . . .”

  My screams echoed in my tuba as I started going round and round with the tank treads.

  And then, just when things couldn’t get any worse (and I couldn’t get any dizzier) I suddenly felt myself hoisted high into the air.

  I figured now would be a good time to scream even louder. Until suddenly I tumbled out of the tuba and into the arms of a giant Bigfoot.

  “Sid, is that you?” I cried.

  “Of course!” The voice came out muffled through the costume head he was wearing.

  WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH . . .

  “Those army guys,” I cried, “they’re shooting real bazookas.”

  “Nah. The rockets are following the tracer wire, remember? They’re exploding where they’re connected to the ground.”

  “But they’ve been hitting me!”

  “That’s ’cause you’ve been standing in the center of the wires.”

  “Oh.” It figured. If there was some place unsafe to stand, I had to be the one standing there.

  “Now this is the tricky part,” he shouted through his costume head. “Just do a lot of yelling while I start to climb up this totem pole. Oh, and try to look scared.”

  No problem there.

  With that he threw me over his shoulder and started climbing the pole.

  Meanwhile, our army buddies were still pretending to shoot. Suddenly the fake dam behind us exploded.

  “Oh . . . no!” one of the army guys shouted, his acting even worse than the band members’ had been. “One . . . of . . . my . . . rockets . . . has . . . hit . . . the . . . dam. Dear . . . me, now . . . I . . . have . . . gone . . . and . . . done . . . it!”

  Fortunately, you could barely hear his bad acting over the thundering of the water as it roared out of the fake hole in the fake dam. The only problem was it pounded and roared directly toward us!

  “Sid!” I shouted, “the dam is—”

  “It’s all fake!” he shouted over the roar. “Just giant water pipes shooting water through that hole and flooding the stadium.”

  I watched as the water raged and pounded under us. Somehow I suspected a person could drown just as easily in a fake flood as in a real one.

  I looked toward the building Uncle Max was supposed to jet ski around for his grand entrance. A bunch of jet skis were parked there, but he was nowhere in sight. And for good reason. The two thugs that had dropped by for breakfast, the ones he owed money to, were there instead.

  Uh-oh.

  And they were looking all over for him.

  Double uh-oh.

  “Okay, get ready!” Sid shouted through his costume.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m going to raise ya to my mouth like I’m going to eat ya. That’s the cue for the army guys to fire a bazooka and hit the totem pole.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then I’ll drop ya into the water and your Uncle Max will come save ya.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Before I could explain that Uncle Max wasn’t around to save my life, Sid let out a growl. “ARRRGHHHHHHH!”

  I’ll have to say it was pretty convincing. But, before I could compliment him on his acting ability, he raised me high into the air and opened his mouth.

  Of course the audience was going crazy. People took pictures left and right as he held me up, preparing to chomp into me. It was a great photo opportunity, but I was kind of sad realizing these last few seconds on earth would immortalize me forever simply as a Bigfoot breath mint.

  And then it happened.

  K-BOOOOOOOOOM!

  The totem pole shuddered under the explosion and Sid released me, just as we planned. Well, just as he planned.

  “AUGGHHHHHH . . .” I screamed as I fell into the thundering water.

  The current was strong and the water swirled and raged. It was all I could do to fight my way back up to the surface to get a breath of air. Desperately, I looked for Uncle Max, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Then the current dragged me back down under the water.

  Chapter 9

  Unlikely Hero

  Don’t get me wrong, I like a good swim as much as the next guy. I just have this thing about breathing. And the way the water was pulling me under and throwing me all around, it didn’t look like I’d be getting the chance to do that for a while.

  Beneath the surface, everything was swirling water and bubbles. I didn’t know which way was up. Finally I caught a glimpse of distant light. I kicked off my shoes and swam toward it. Then I surfaced with more than the daily minimum requirement of coughing and choking.

  “Uncle Max!” I shouted. “Where’s Uncle—”

  And then I heard it. The roar of a jet ski. I spun around and broke into a grin. There he was, heading toward me. What a relief. It was still rough keeping my head above the water, but at least I knew I was about to be saved.

  Then I noticed it. The closer he came, the more it looked like he wasn’t heading for me after all. In fact it looked like he was going to go right past me!

  I waved my arms. “Uncle choke Max! I’m cough cough over here!”

  He caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye and changed course. Now he was heading directly toward me. Good, that was better. A lot better.

  He started to slow down and leaned over, getting ready to scoop me up.

  “I knew you’d come!” I coughed.

  He forced a smile then glanced nervously over his shoulder. When he turned back I saw his expression had completely changed. Without a warning, he suddenly gunned his jet ski . . . and roared right past me.

  “UNCLE MAX! UNCLE—”

  My cries did no good. He didn’t even look back as he raced for the other side of the stadium.

  “UNCLE—choke choke, glug glug . . .”

  The wake of his jet ski pulled me under the water.

  When I came back up, he was still making his getaway and disappearing rapidly. What was happening? Why had he deserted me? I was clueless. I had no idea what was going on (other than the minor fact that I was still drowning to death).

  Then I heard another sound. I spun around and had my answer.

  The two thugs were also on jet skis and quickly closing in.

  I did my usual shouting and screaming for help, but for some reason they had other things on their minds. They raced right by me without so much as a snarl. They did, however, leave giant wakes behind, which sent me back under the water again.

  Yes sir, it was just like old times, spinning and turning in the bubbling water. I swam for all I was worth (which was getting to be less and less), but this time I didn’t see daylight.

  I swam harder.

  Still nothing.

  I began to panic. My lungs started to burn for air. And still no light. About this time I came to an incredible conclusion. Either someone had unplugged the sun, or I was swimming in the wrong direction.

  I spun around and kicked off the other way.

  And then I saw it. A faint light, but it was far, far away. I swam harder. My lungs were on fire, screaming for air. The light looked closer, but I doubted I could make it. Still I swam, my lungs ready to explode. My mind raced with thoughts of who’d get my CD player and, more important, would I have to spend eternity in heaven wearing this lame band uniform?

  Then, somehow, someway I surfaced. I did more coughing and choking than
the Haircube character in my superhero story. I’d never drowned before, and I have to admit I really didn’t want to learn now. But I didn’t have enough strength to make it back to shore. I knew I couldn’t survive another dunk. It would only be a matter of seconds before—

  Then I heard it.

  “Hang on, Wally . . .”

  The voice was distant but grew louder.

  “Hang on, Wally. I’m coming.”

  It was Dad!

  I spun around and caught a glimpse of his balding head bobbing through the waves toward me. What’s he doing?! He can’t swim! He’s scared to death of the water!

  But yet he just kept on coming.

  “Hang on, son!”

  Another wave hit. I fought to stay on the surface, but my arms and legs were giving out.

  “Hang on . . .”

  Behind the wave came a major swirl. It caught me and dragged me back under for what I knew was the last time.

  I couldn’t hold on. I was giving in, giving up. I didn’t want to swim anymore. I couldn’t. I had nothing to swim with. Suddenly dying didn’t seem like such a bad deal after all. (Although it could definitely put a crimp in your summer vacation plans.) All I had to do was stop fighting, just give up. All I had to do was take a deep breath of water and it would all be over. The fire in my lungs would go out, and I’d just keep on sinking . . . forever. Floating . . . sinking . . .

  Suddenly, I felt an arm wrap around my chest. It was pulling on me—hard.

  A moment later I was yanked to the surface, doing what I do best: coughing and gagging my insides out. But this time I had company. This time Dad was right beside me coughing and choking even more than I was.

  “What are you doing out here?” I shouted. “You can’t swim!”

  “Tell me about it,” he coughed. “I don’t know the first thing about—”

  Another big wave hit us and we both went under. But instead of giving up and letting go, I wanted to fight. I wasn’t sure why or how, but something about having Dad out there, something about his caring, gave me strength. And with that strength I fought and kicked my way back to the surface.

  I came up coughing but couldn’t see Dad.

  “Dad? DAD?!”

  He was still under the water!

  I dove back in. It was hard to see through the murky water and bubbles, but at last I found him. He was thrashing wildly in all directions at the same time . . . which meant he was getting nowhere fast. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled and kicked us both toward the surface.

  At last we made it to air and continued our choking and coughing routine.

  “You can’t swim worth beans!” I shouted.

  “You’re wrong,” Dad half laughed, half choked. “I can’t swim at all!”

  Strange, here we were getting ready to die, and we were busy cracking jokes.

  “Take off your coat!” I shouted. “And your shoes. You’ve still got your shoes on!”

  “I was in kind of a hurry!”

  Another wave washed over us, and we were dunked back under. But only for a second.

  When we came back up, Dad shouted, “Let me grab you around the chest.”

  “What?!”

  “I’ve seen it on TV,” he shouted. “It’s how lifeguards save people.”

  I shook my head. “I’m the swimmer, let me save you!”

  “You don’t have the strength!”

  “You don’t know how to swim!”

  Another wave, another dunk.

  When we came back up, Dad had a solution. “All right, let’s take turns.”

  “What?”

  “You swim us toward shore a few strokes. When you get tired, rest and I’ll try to keep us floating until you regain your strength!”

  I looked at him. I wanted to tell him he was crazy, but something in his eyes stopped me. I can’t exactly explain it, but there was something in them that I had never seen before. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe I’d just never noticed it. I don’t know. But I do know his eyes were filled with such love for me that I felt a lump grow in my throat.

  It wasn’t a great plan, but it seemed to be the only one we had. I nodded and shouted, “Okay, let’s give it a shot.”

  And so we started for shore. Me hanging onto

  Dad, and Dad hanging onto me. I’d take my five or six strokes before having to rest, then Dad would do his best to keep our heads above water. Then I’d take another five or six strokes and rest again.

  It was slow going, and we were definitely taking in more than our recommended eight glasses of water per day. But gradually, foot by foot, we made progress.

  Yes sir, we were quite the team, though I wouldn’t be looking for us at the Olympics. Eventually, I could see the grandstands. We were much closer. And then, for some strange reason, we started picking up speed. My swimming became easier and easier.

  “We’re in some sort of current,” I shouted.

  “That’s great!” Dad yelled.

  But it wasn’t great. At first we had been pushed toward the grandstands, but now we were being pulled away. Then we were pushed back again, faster this time. And then pulled away, even faster.

  “We’re in a whirlpool!” Dad shouted.

  “A what?!”

  “The stadium is draining! We’re being sucked down into a drain!”

  I looked around. Dad was right. We were entering a giant cone of water. We were spinning around, faster and faster, in tighter and tighter circles. It was almost as bad as that twister movie . . . but without the popcorn and Coke!

  And without the air!

  The faster we spun, the more the water splashed and covered us.

  “I can’t fight it!” I cried through the spraying water. “It’s too strong!”

  “Hang on, son!”

  I looked up. We were halfway down the cone. A wall of water towered high over our heads as the suction continued to drag us down farther and farther. I clung to Dad for all I was worth. And he clung to me. I have to admit it had been a long time since we’d hugged each other so tightly. It felt kind of good . . . considering the circumstances.

  And then it happened. The cone of water above us caved in. The wall crashed down, slamming tons of water on top of us. I’d like to give you the play-by-play. Unfortunately, it’s kind of hard to remember all the details of dying when you’ve been knocked totally unconscious.

  Chapter 10

  Wrapping Up

  The next thing I remember, I was coughing up a swimming pool of water. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw the stunt coordinator hovering over my face. He’d obviously just given me mouth to mouth.

  I coughed and sputtered some more.

  He turned to the crowd surrounding us. “He’s going to be okay, folks.”

  The faces looking down on me all nodded in approval.

  “You all right, sport?”

  I looked up and saw Mom kneeling beside me. “Yeah, I think so.” I struggled to sit up. “What happened?” Then panic hit me. “What about Dad? Where’s—”

  “Right here, son.”

  I turned around and saw Dad sitting on the concrete beside me. He looked pretty wet and wiped out.

  “What happened?” I asked. “How did we—” But then, just for old time’s sake, I went into a major coughing fit. When I finished, I looked back at Dad. “How did you get us out?”

  He brushed what little hair he has out of his eyes and smiled. “I prayed.”

  “You what?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

  I continued to stare at him. Of course. How could I have forgotten something like that? I mean, there we were, right in the middle of dying, getting ready to make a personal appearance before God. And I hadn’t even bothered to ask for His help.

  “How?” I croaked. “What happened?”

  “It was the most amazing thing,” Mom said. “You and Dad were caught in that whirlpool. The two of you really looked like goners.”

  “We f
elt like it too,” I added.

  “And then, at the very last second, your tuba was sucked down into the drain. It completely stopped it up.”

  “My tuba?” I asked.

  “Exactly.” Mom grinned. “All the water came crashing together, and it formed this giant wave that shoved you two right up here to the shore. It was a miracle, Wally, a real miracle.”

  I slowly turned to Dad. I couldn’t believe it. But it wasn’t only the miracle that amazed me. Dad did too. I mean, here’s this little, no-nothing, balding guy. Not some big superstar. Not some major stunt man. Just plain old Dad. He not only faced his worst fears to try and save my life, but he also had the smarts and the faith to pray.

  Then I remembered what Mom had said earlier that morning. Maybe she was right. Maybe Uncle Max wasn’t such a hero after all. Maybe there was another type of hero in my life, one I had ignored all these years.

  The thought made my throat get kind of tight again. Good ol’ Dad. Good ol’ take-him-for-granted, not-much-into-hugging, always-on-your-case-to-mow-the-lawn Dad. I started to open my mouth. I wanted to say something, to at least thank him, but we were interrupted.

  “Step aside. Let me through. I’m the boy’s uncle. Let me in.” The crowd parted and Uncle Max arrived. “You all right, Wally?”

  “What happened?” I asked. “Where did you go?”

  “Sorry about that.” He flashed his perfect white teeth in his famous ultracool grin. “Remember those guys at breakfast?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, they had a little unfinished business they wanted to settle with me.”

  My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He’d put my life in danger. He’d practically let me drown. And for what? “A little unfinished business?”

  Seeing my expression, Uncle Max cranked up his grin to a 10+. “But hey,” he slapped me on the back, “everything worked out, didn’t it? You got your big break in show biz. You got to star with your Uncle Max in the big stunt extravaganza. You got to . . .”

  He continued talking, but I stopped listening. Why hadn’t I seen it before? This guy was nothing but show. Oh sure, he could bench press a gazillion pounds, and he had the coolest clothes and house and job. But when the chips were down . . .