by Paul Dueweke
* * *
“Let’s bike up to the cliffs and ride the Goat, Dad!” Susie shouted, her hair trailing behind her as she skipped toward her father.
“How does that sound to you, Snake?” Elliott asked as Luke scaled his back using his belt for a foothold. “Think you can ride that far?”
“Uh huh, snakes can go anyplace. But I like to play tag at the bank, too,” Luke grunted as he inched up the mountain.
“The bank’s on the way to the cliffs, so maybe we could do both,” Elliott said.
Luke reached the summit and grabbed Elliott’s forehead as he swung his leg over his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t use my ear. Last time it almost came off in your hand. Want me to look like that lady at church with only one ear. What would I do with all my extra earrings?”
“Daddy! Boys don’t wear earrings, and Mommy says you shouldn’t make fun of her. She’s got a … what do you call that thing she’s got?”
“It’s what she doesn’t have that’s so funny. Her husband can buy her a pair of earrings, and it’s good for two birthdays. Lucky guy!”
“No, Daddy, that’s not what I mean,” Luke said as he settled on his shoulders in triumph. “It’s what Mommy says she’s got so she can park in that special place.”
“You mean a handicap. She parks in that spot so she doesn’t have to walk so far on one ear.”
“Handicap. That’s it. Mommy says you shouldn’t make fun of a lady with a handicap.”
“I’m not making fun of her. She walks like this because her head is too heavy on one side.”
“Daddy!” he laughed. “That’s just what Mommy said you shouldn’t do. That lady can’t help it that she’s only got one ear.”
“Just like you can’t help it that all you have is a head and a tail. That’s just the way God made snakes. But it’s still funny!” He flipped Luke over his head and buried him in the sofa.
“Look, Dad.” Susie interrupted their giggling. “Mom got this picnic stuff for us.”
“Where are you three off to this morning?” Martha asked from the doorway. “I just want to know what direction to send the police when you don’t come home by dark.”
“We won’t get lost, Mom,” Susie replied. “Dad knows the way. It’s not far.”
“I know, but you might decide to live up in those rocks and just come back for food.”
“Dad, are you going to take us skiing this winter? Last year you said Luke was too little. You said when he got to the second grade, we could all go. Now I’ve been cheated out of three years of skiing, so I think we should go.”
“Tell you what, Otter, suppose the four of us talk about it over pizza and beer tonight.”
“Okay. But don’t try to change the subject or make a joke out of it. Okay?”
“Fair enough!”
“Can I carry the picnic stuff in my basket?” Luke asked. “I’ll be real careful.”
“And while you’re out being foolish,” Martha said, “I’ll be here slaving over the stove.”
“We’ll stop at 7-Q and bring you back your favorite prize,” Elliott said.
Off they went, the trio on another adventure. They peddled to the empty parking lot of the bank where they terrorized each other in a game of bike tag, their favorite weekend activity besides riding the Goat.
Goat Rock sat on the cliffs above the surrounding plains. When the Townsends sat on the Goat, they were more together than at any other time. Yet each knew it was a time for reflection, to be alone but connected, a time to share dreams. Elliott even stopped joking then.
The city seemed so near in that crisp air that they could reach out and stop the cars rocketing along the freeways. Elliott showed the kids how he could place his hand across the river, and they’d watch the waters rise until they overflowed their banks and inundated the whole city. Susie would wait for just the right instant when the water was lapping up the very street where they lived. Then she would lift Elliott’s fingers one at a time, and the waters would recede.
Their goat rode above a cloud of cottonwoods billowing up from the canyon below like rolling hills of grass. They’d close their eyes and catch an updraft, looking down on themselves astride their goat. The magic of the Goat would live with them long after they returned to their other world.
