by Brian Bakos
“Yeah, enjoy it up there,” Duals says.
“Right.”
So that’s the end of that phone calls – two downer conversations within five minutes.
I glance around the house. What had been a pleasant enough spot yesterday now seems to be a prison, like that Devil’s Island place the French used to send criminals.
One thing is certain – with Uncle Archie, Aunt Beth and my two cousins here, I won’t be able to keep the big guest bedroom upstairs. I’ll have to relocate to the tiny back room on the first floor, the grim dark one like a jail cell.
But maybe things aren’t quite so bad. Maybe, with all this rain, Uncle Archie will skid off the road and crash. Nobody hurt, of course, just the trip here cancelled.
Nah, that was too cold ... how about this scenario?
Uncle Archie looks up at the rainy sky and says: “You know, the weather here really sucks. Let’s all get on a plane to Bermuda.”
***
But no such luck. Uncle Archie and the gang arrive all together – just as we’re sitting down to lunch.
“Hey Tackhead, how’s it going?” is the first thing my cousin Jesse, the big 10th grader, says to me.
He gives me a ‘playful’ little sock in the arm. Tackhead is this cute nickname he has for me. My other cousin, fourth-grader Linda, thinks this is so funny.
“Yeah, Cousin Tackhead, how are you?” she says between giggles.
“Be nice, now,” Aunt Beth says in this not really disapproving way.
Uncle Archie goes out to the kitchen and snatches a beer out of the fridge without even asking Grandpa or offering to get one for him. I turn toward Jesse.
“I’m pretty good, Blubberbutt,” I say. “How about yourself?”
Blubberbutt is this nickname I’ve just invented. Jesse doesn’t like it much, judging by the way his eyes narrow. At least it shuts him up for the time being.
“Now boys, let’s be civil,” Aunt Beth says.
“That’s right,” Uncle Archie says, popping open the beer. “God, I’ve been needing one of these!”
He guzzles straight from the 24-ounce can, a little trickle runs down his chin.
Uncle Archie is so totally unlike Dad. How could they be related, much less brothers? Dad is smooth and refined, while this guy ... let’s just say that when they handed out class, Uncle Archie was standing in another line.
As far as Jessie is concerned, there’ll be trouble with him this week, I know. I formulate another point for the Matt Manifesto:
Point 5 – No more crap from cousin Jesse.
19: Showdown
I do a pretty good job of avoiding Uncle Archie and the gang. The weather has improved, so I can spend time alone snorkeling or taking long forest walks.
They are always going out in the boat or running into town or throwing lawn darts, keeping to themselves. I think Grandma and Grandpa have scoped the situation accurately, so they don’t try to enforce any ‘rah rah!’ family togetherness type stuff.
Actually, I don’t think they enjoy Uncle Archie’s visit much. He doesn’t make their eyes brighten the way Dad does when he’s around. But that’s their problem. I have my own kids to worry about, the ones who shoved me into the cremation oven.
Also I’m busy working on a screenplay – a new and positive story that will be our next Studio Duals production. It’s called: Adventure Bike Club – the Beginning
It involves four young people swooping in on their bikes and doing heroic things – saving others from terrible fates, making the world right. I figure this initial episode will run about fifteen minutes. It will show the forming of the Club and their first adventure. After that, we’ll roar into episode two, and ...
To tell the truth, the script is fairly lame. I’m looking forward to Duals fleshing out the details. So, every night I stay awake in my little cell writing in my notebook while an incredible orchestra of insects twitter and whir outside. Once I hear something big lumber past my window, but it’s gone by the time I look out. I really don’t want to know what it is, to tell the truth.
Since there’s no internet in the house, I didn’t bother to bring my laptop. Big mistake. My handwriting is so bad that I can scarcely read it myself sometimes.
I’m forming other ideas for Studio Duals, too. The high school had a good football team last year, maybe they’ll also do well this coming year. In any case, we can document the season – film game highlights, conduct interviews, make them look sharp.
We can do the same for the basketball team. This will get us in good with the jocks, and Duals might be able to get some of our video out on local TV again. We can sell DVDs – the better the sports season, the more we can charge.
And don’t forget the brainy types, the National Honor Society crowd, etc. They’d appreciate some positive coverage, too. Not to mention the school plays, with Tamika in the leading roles, of course. We can make a lot of friends, establish connections, get ourselves known.
Things are starting to bend my direction. I can almost feel Matt the Man emerging from the shadows.
***
Then Friday afternoon while I’m snorkeling, cousin Jessie comes swimming out toward me. I’m busy looking for the snapping turtle, and the first indication that Jessie is around comes when my air suddenly cuts off.
“Gaak!” I say.
I struggle to my feet in the shallow water. Jesse has blocked my snorkel with his hand and is laughing maniacally.
“Take it easy, twerp,” he says. “Don’t you know that breathing is over rated?”
“Cut it out, you moron!” I cry.
“Who’s gonna make me?” Jesse says.
I retreat backwards to knee-deep water, shuffling awkwardly on my fins. Jesse follows. He snatches off my mask and snorkel.
“How does thing work, nerd?”
He tries to force the mask over his face, the strap is too tight for him.
“Stop that, you’ll break the strap!”
“And that’s my problem, because...?” Jesse sneers.
Okay, this is it, Blubberbutt, I tell myself.
I yank off my fins and toss them aside. Then I remove my belt and wrapped it around my hand. The nylon weight pouch, filled with lead shot, forms itself perfectly to my knuckles.
“Come on,” Jesse says, “show me how to use this thing.”
“Sure,” I say.
Then I kind of feel sorry for old Jesse. Here he is, the overweight, unlovely kid that nobody at his school likes. They laugh at him behind his back, and the girls give him a wide berth.
Well ... too bad about all that.
I anchor my feet solidly on the bottom. Then, twisting at the hips for maximum power, I drive my weighted fist in an uppercut right to the point of Jesse’s chin.
“Umph!” he grunts.
The dive mask flies off his head. He looks astonished for a split second, then his eyes go blank. He crashes backwards into the water.
“Jessie!”
He’s out cold and sinking fast. I splash over and grab him under the armpits. Even with the water partly supporting him, he weighs a ton.
“Don’t drown, you slob!”
I drag him toward shore – inch by agonizing inch. It feel like my arms were going to tear off any second. Finally the water is only a few inches deep. I drop Jesse on his back. He returns to life.
“What happened?” he moans.
“There’s more if you want it,” I say. “All you have to do is ask.”
I have this little diving knife strapped to my leg. I pull it out of the scabbard and let him have a look.
“No!” Jessie gurgles.
Actually, it’s more accurately a ‘diving tool’ with only a small sharp edge. It seems to make the desired impression, though.
Jessie rolls onto his side and coughs up water. Then he crawls fully onto dry land. I think he’s crying by the time I retrieve my gear and walk off.
Grandma meets me when I come in the house through the slid
ing doors.
“Where’s Jesse?” she asks. “He said he was going swimming with you.”
“He’s fine,” I say, “the lake just isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
“Oh ... I see,” Grandma says.
She looks out toward the shore where Jesse is sitting up now.
“Can you drive me into town, Grandma?” I say. “I’d like to visit the library.”
20: Word from South of the Border
At the library, I fire up one of the ancient computers to access my email account. No word from Duals. Guess he’s also giving our relationship a break until I get back.
There are two emails from Grandpa, though. Meaning my Mom’s dad – or Grandpa Richard to be technical. He sent the first one from his hotel in Merida, Mexico:
Greetings from south of the border to my favorite grandson (my only grandson, come to think of it). Having a great time. This is no place to lose your head, though.
Two pictures come with the email. One shows Grandpa standing on the grass waving at the camera with this huge Mayan pyramid looming in the background. The second is taken on top of the pyramid. Grandpa is sitting with his back to the camera, he’s ducked his head down out of view, trying to look like a decapitated person.
He sent the second email from Alajuela, Costa Rica:
Going into the wilderness for a couple of weeks. I’ve met some American missionaries who are constructing a church out in the far reaches. You can only get there by dugout canoe. They didn’t want to take me along at first, but a fat donation changed their minds.
Hope things are going well for you in your film career.
Dang! What I wouldn’t give to be out in the far reaches of Costa Rica with Grandpa instead of stuck in these Northern wilds with the Uncle Archie crowd. As far as my “film career” is concerned, it seems to be going nowhere at top speed – but things will change when I finally get home.
I write back:
Good luck with the mission work, Grandpa. Thanks for all the movie equipment. I hope to have some great stuff to show you when you get back. It’s been very educational.
That’s putting it mildly. My whole life has been turned upside down by that camera stuff. It seems like I’ll always divide my life into two phases: BSD / ASD. ‘Before Studio Duals’ and ‘After Studio Duals.’ My computer session still has plenty of time to run, but I log off. I’ve seen enough of the outside world for now.
There’s still the cousin Jesse question. Will there be any more trouble with him? We’ll just have to see.
21: Taking Charge
Actually, Jesse is fine. He makes no more tackhead or twerp comments, and I put blubberbutt to rest as well. I’m not saying that he’s being friendly, just more respectful – as if he’s concerned that maybe next time I’ll gut him like one of those fish they’re always catching.
On Sunday, I have the entire far back seat of Uncle Archie’s minivan to myself for the ride home. Just me and my luggage – my feet propped up on the net bag containing my snorkel gear with its lethal weight belt and knife. Jesse and Linda have the seat ahead of me. The sum total of our conversation equals zero. Just the way I like it.
I’m busy finishing my screenplay and wouldn’t want to talk even if my cousins were cool, rather than being their usual nasty selves. I add a scene where the hero rescues a guy who’s been knocked out in the water. There is this hot girl on shore who witnesses the whole thing. She’s really turned on by the hero’s bravery, and ...
Well, it needs some polish. Duals can help with that.
***
Mom and Dad are happy to see me back home. Dad still looks a bit down from the flu, though. He already dragged himself back to work Friday, Mom says. I’m oddly proud of him for that, as if he’s achieved some great athletic success or something.
I’m so lucky to have him and my two grandpas. Since our adventure on the lake together, my opinion of Grandpa Ben has improved a lot.
Grandma is nice, too, if you can head her off from depressing conversation topics – things like who the latest heart attack victim is, or who just lost all their money in an investment scam, or what the latest problems with her dentures are.
Hey, I’m still a kid. Why burden me with so many unsolvable problems? Why not talk about fun things now and then?
And cousin Jesse has finally been put in his place. Maybe, if I’m extremely lucky, I’ll never have to see him again. Why can’t Dad and Uncle Archie have one of those family falling outs where people don’t speak to each other for twenty years?
The trip up north has turned out pretty good after all.
Then it’s upstairs to my glorious room with my computer, books, and model airplanes – and plenty of space to stretch out. I download some free script-writing software and type up Adventure Bike Club – the Beginning with it.
After printing two copies, I finally get to bed.
22: Back to the Studio
Late Monday morning I’m all fresh and rested, bursting with new ideas and ready to take charge of things. When I stroll into the studio, Duals is already there sitting on the living room couch. Tamika and Kaitlyn are also present.
“Where’s Romina?” I ask after the usual greetings have been exchanged.
“She went back to Europe for the summer,” Tamika replies. “I am so jealous!”
Wow, she actually tossed two whole sentences my direction! I would have died for that a couple of weeks ago, but now I couldn’t care less. I am way past the Tamika thing. That treacherous kiss she gave me at the Roll-O-Center has cured me forever. I turn toward Duals.
“All right,” I say, “let’s hop back in the saddle and get some things done.”
I enjoy the sound of that, like something a Western action hero might say. I pull out my script.
“Here’s the screenplay for our first production, let me know what you think.”
I hand it to Duals. He takes it wearily and leafs through the pages. He doesn’t look too enthusiastic.
“Well?” I say.
“Oh, it’s fine.” Duals hands the papers back. “There’s only one problem.”
“What?”
“Well, you see ... my cousin Rex kind of borrowed the camera.”
I am appalled.
“You loaned him my camera?”
“It seemed like an okay idea at the time,” Duals says. “I mean, he was driving me all these places and I figured I owed him. It was only supposed to be for a few days.”
“Well, if he ‘kind of borrowed’ the camera, let’s kind of get it back!” I say.
“There’s another problem,” Duals says. “While Rex had the camera ... he sort of lost it in a poker game.”
“What!”
“I’m sorry, man,” Duals says. “I really screwed up.”
I grope my way to the easy chair and plop down. I feel as if it’s me, not Jesse, who’s been socked in the jaw.
This can’t be happening – can it? My tormented brain asks. Not to me, not after everything I’ve been through.
Then a towering rage takes hold. I want to strangle Duals slowly and painfully – I want to grab that boom pole and break it over his head – I want ...
I’m too stunned to get out of the chair.
“We were just discussing what we can do about it,” Duals is saying. “We’re going to meet Dylan at the pool today and try to figure something out.”
“Yeah, sure ... whatever,” I manage to say.
Where’s that cremation oven when I need it?
Three: The Next Phase
23: Swimming Pool Fun
The next thing I know, we are all standing at the gate of this private swimming / tennis club – a place where Tamika’s family has a membership. I’m not exactly sure how we got here, as I was still in zombie mode. Somebody must have driven us, because we don’t have any bikes. Along the way, I somehow obtained a towel with a bathing suit rolled inside it.
Snap out of it, Matt! I force myself back to grim reality
.
“I hope the suit is okay,” Duals is saying. “It’s kind of old, but it’s the only spare I have.”
Yes, now I remember. Duals gave me this when we left Grandpa’s place. It would save time if I didn’t have to go home for my own suit, he said.
The full horror of my situation begins to sink in. The camera, with it’s professional grade lens, must be worth a lot of money. Grandpa gave it to me, or maybe he actually bought it for himself and was only loaning it to me. Whatever.
The point is, he trusted me with it – he trusted me with his house and all the other equipment. He thought that I might be able to accomplish something this time, live up to his expectations for once.
And now this disaster!
A short time earlier I’d confidently walked into Studio Duals ready to take charge. Now I’m in charge of precisely nothing. I don’t even have my own towel! Duals is calling the shots again while I stumble along behind. How has all this happened?
Dylan walks up. “Hey, everybody, how’s it going?”
Oh, it’s going just great, pal.
He wraps his arm around Tamika’s waist and they exchange this obnoxious little kiss. I take Duals aside.
“Hold on,” I say, “are they, like ... together now?”
“Yeah,” Duals replies, “go figure.”
Oh man, there truly is no justice anywhere! Dylan gets the girl, while I get the shaft. There must be some mysterious and irreversible law of the universe at work: The better looking the girl, the bigger the goof ball she goes for.
Calm down, Matt. You’re past the Tamika thing, remember?
We move into the reception area where Tamika generously pays our guest fees at the counter. The pool has just opened for the day, so there isn’t any crowd yet. I head to the guys’ locker room with Dylan and Duals. Both of them are wearing their suits under their clothes, so they get out fast, leaving me to struggle into my borrowed outfit.
When I get to the pool deck, Duals and Dylan are already in the water.
“Come on in, Matt, before the crowd shows up!” Dylan calls to me.
I don’t feel much like swimming, though. I drag a chair to the only shady area on the deck – at the shallow end, near some greenery with a small tree arching over it. I sit there brooding for some minutes before Kaitlyn and Tamika appear.
They both looked stunning in their two-piece swimsuits – especially Tamika. When she appears, everything else in the world grinds to a halt. They pull up chairs near mine, but in the sun so that they can work on their tans.
