by Joel Arnold
The kind where your tiny dad waits in a tiny house ready to expose your huge lie.
I took a deep breath. The scent of pine filled my lungs.
Push.
Glide.
Push.
Shit.
But maybe Vince was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Chapter 8
“What do you think of Cathy Hader?” Vince asked.
I’d fallen about twenty feet behind, and barely heard him. “I think you’ve got the hots for her,” I said.
Vince stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder. I soon caught up, but had to stop and lean against a tree to catch my breath. “She’s a cheerleader,” I said. “And she’s smart. Beautiful. She even says hi to me in the hall. What’s not to like about her?”
“Do you think she’d go out with me?” Vince’s light brown skin turned a shade darker.
“Huh,” I said. “I didn’t know you could blush.”
“Seriously. Do you think – ” He paused.
“Why not? You’re a jock. It’s the rule. Cheerleaders and jocks – peanut butter and jelly.”
He looked at me like I’d just farted. He shook his head. “But I mean – ”
“What, you’re leg?”
His eyes narrowed. “What about my leg? I was talking about the fact that I’m Cambodian.”
“Oh. That.”
Vince grew agitated. “You think my leg’s a problem, too?”
“No.”
“You think I’m a cripple?”
“No!”
“A gimp?”
I finally realized he was joking. “No.” I laughed.
Vince chuckled. “But seriously, I mean – you think I should ask her out?”
“She seems nice enough,” I said. “For a cheerleader, anyway. And despite you being a football star, you’re a pretty nice guy, too. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? Aside from completely humiliating you in front of all your friends?”
“Thanks.”
“If she does that, just yank off your leg and take a swing at her.”
“Nice.”
“But seriously. Go for it. Ask out the beautiful, gorgeous, girl-of-my-dreams cheerleader.”
“I will.”
“Seriously.”
“I am serious. I will.”
“If you don’t,” I said, “then I will.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
“I bet you are.”
“Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“You doubt me?”
“Doubt is such a strong word,” Vince said. “But it won’t be an issue, cause I’m asking her out first thing when we get back.” Vince turned around and pushed off, shooting ahead.
I took a deep breath and slid one ski forward, then the other, wondering when the hell we’d ever get to wherever it was we were going.
Chapter 9
Finally, finally, finally, Vince said, “This looks like a good spot.”
Finally.
With relief, I slid the pack off my back and leaned against a bare birch, shaking off my skis.
“Don’t get too comfy,” Vince said. “We still have work to do.”
There were two empty rectangular plastic containers tied to the outside of Vince’s backpack. He untied them and tossed me one. “These are for the walls,” he said. “Fill it up, pack it down, and you’ve got an instant brick.” With the toe of his boot, he drew a large circle in the snow. “Here’s where the wall will be. Line up the bricks on it. We’ll stack ‘em up a few layers high, then we need to start curving inward.” He erased part of the large circle with his boot. “Here’s the entrance.”
He seemed confident about what he was doing, but I wasn’t ready to get all happy about it until we were safe inside, sitting around a small fire. He better have matches, I thought.
We got to work, making snow bricks and arranging them in a circle. We added another layer, and another.
By our fourth layer, it started to snow again. Vince stepped over the wall into the middle of the growing shelter. “Let’s get a move-on,” Vince said, pulling back his coat sleeve to look at his watch. “It’s starting to get dark.”
“Great.” I scooped more snow into the container and packed it down. Vince scooped up snow from the igloo’s floor. As I stacked the bricks of snow, Vince smoothed the inside walls, easing the bricks into place and filling in the gaps.
The temperature dropped. The wind whistled through the trees. The snowflakes lost their charm. Instead of being fat and lazy, they’d become tiny pellets that stung my cheeks. I leaned forward, hoping they’d land on my hat, but they hit my nose and forehead and snuck down the collar of my coat, biting my throat and neck like icy mosquitoes. I pulled my ski mask down over my face, but my nose, neck and eyes were still exposed.
“I don’t suppose you checked out a weather forecast before embarking on this great adventure of ours?” I grimaced as snow crept between my gloves and sleeves, stinging my wrists. The walls were now up to Vince’s chin.
“They said it was supposed to be calm through the weekend with a light chance of snow.”
“Has there ever been a weather forecast that came even close to being right?” I asked, my voice muffled through the material of the ski mask.
Vince looked up at the sky. “Don’t worry about it. Once we get this thing done, it could be the storm of the century and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to us.”
“You’re pretty confident about your igloo building skills, aren’t ya?”
Vince slid a newly formed block of snow onto the growing wall. “If we always did things your way, we’d be sitting in bed with teddy bears and sucking our thumbs.”
“Are you saying you didn’t bring teddy bears?”
Vince scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at me. “Here’s your teddy bear. And here.” He flung more snow at me.
“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Let’s get this eighth wonder of the world done before morning.”
We eased the last brick onto the top by the time the sun’s dim light left the sky. It had been easier than I thought.
“A thing of beauty, ain’t it?” Vince said from inside, his voice quiet through the snowy walls.
He cut a hole about the size of a cantaloupe out near the top for ventilation. He kicked his way out of the bottom and we worked on the entrance in the dark, with only a couple flashlights to see by.
“I’ll finish here,” Vince said. “You start gathering firewood. Get a variety of stuff.”
“How’re we going to light it?” I asked. “Won’t it be all wet?”
Vince winked at me. “I know an old Indian trick.”
I gathered wood in one arm while holding a flashlight in my other hand, dropping the wood near the growing entrance.
“Does it need to be so long?” I asked, nodding at the entrance.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Vince said. “It keeps the inside nice and warm.” With a grunt, he stood up, admiring the frozen architecture. “Perfect.”
I had to admit, it looked pretty cool. “You’re sure we won’t freeze in there?” I asked.
“Trust me,” he said.
We hauled in our packs and wood through the long tunnel-like entrance. Inside, the igloo was barely large enough to stand up in, the ventilation hole just above eye level.
“What do you think?” Vince asked.
I nodded. “Gotta say, we did a pretty decent job.”
Vince’s eyes brightened. “We forgot to sign it.”
“Sign it? With what?”
“Follow me.”
We crawled outside into the cold air. The wind had picked up. I followed Vince to the back of the igloo. He took off his gloves and unzipped his pants.
“Unless you have really good bladder control, I recommend cursive.” He proceeded to whiz on the back of the igloo, spelling out his name in crude yellow letters.
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“Nice,” I said. I followed suit, barely having enough left in me to cross the T in Tommy.
“Excellent job, my friend,” Vince said. We stood admiring our work, grinning like idiots.
I shivered. “Why don’t you show me that old Indian trick you were telling me about,” I said.
Chapter 10
I never realized the indigenous people of America carried lighter fluid with them. After a brief struggle with the childproof cap and a few squirts from the can Vince pulled from his backpack, all it took was the toss of a lit match, and our fire blazed bright and hot.
A thought suddenly crossed my mind. “Won’t this melt the snow?”
Vince patted me on the back. “Not a chance. In fact, what little snow does melt inside here will refreeze and make the walls even stronger.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
The cell phone rang.
My heart flipped.
Vince glanced at the caller ID. “It’s for you,” he said.
“You answer it. Tell him I’m taking a crap.”
“Won’t he want to talk to my dad?”
“Just answer it,” I said.
Vince held it to his ear. “Hello? Hi, Mr. Connell. I’m doing great. Tommy’s taking a crap.”
I scowled.
He shrugged. “My dad? He’s busy right now. Taking a shower. Mom’s out right now. Yes. Okay. I’ll have one of them call you as soon as possible.” Vince turned the phone off and tossed it on the packed-down snow. “Persistent, ain’t he?”
“You weren’t supposed to actually say ‘Tommy’s taking a crap.’”
“That’s what you told me to say.”
“I didn’t mean in those exact words.”
“Well, whatever. Fact is, we’re here – out in the woods in the middle of winter, and what do you know? We’re snug as two bugs in a rug. And guess what?”
There was that stupid grin again. “What?”
He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a bottle. He held it up for me to see.
“No,” I said. “You dumb-ass. No way.”
It was a bottle half-full of brandy, one snatched straight from his parent’s liquor cabinet.
“Come on. Just a drink or two won’t hurt.”
“I’m already going to be in enough trouble as it is.”
“Don’t be such a puss.” Vince unscrewed the cap and took a swig. He gasped. “Tastes gross. Burns your throat.” He took another sip, then handed it to me. “Come on.”
With an endorsement like that, how could I say no? I decided to take a tiny sip, just so he’d stop bugging me about it.
“Ugghh!” It not only burned my throat, but my lips and tongue as well. I broke open a bag of chips to get the taste out of my mouth. “How can people drink that crap?”
Vince took the bottle back and took another swig. Again, a look of disgust crossed his face. But he took another swig. “If you keep drinking, it starts to taste better.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“More for me, then.” But he only took one more sip, and screwed the cap back on. I passed him the chips.
As he munched, he looked up at the hole in the roof. I looked up, too. Flakes fell through the hole, melting as they neared the small fire.
My face grew hot as I thought about my dad. A wave of dizziness passed over me, and my throat felt like it had a dead bug stuck deep inside of it. What should I do about my parents? They were expecting me to call, or at least Vince’s parents, who were completely out of the picture. Why did this happen whenever I was with Vince? It was always something – like I could never just completely sit back and enjoy myself.
Always something.
A strange thought occurred to me. What if I just called and fessed up? Tell Dad the truth? What’s the worst he could do?
Other than never let me get my driver’s license, and kick me out of the house, and give their entire inheritance to my sister, and…
Well, okay – they wouldn’t actually do any of those things. But they’d be disappointed. Very disappointed. And they knew how to pour on the guilt.
But if I didn’t call and fess up, things could turn out a lot worse.
Damn it, Vince!
The cell phone rang again.
Vince glanced at the phone. “It’s your dad again. Want me to tell him you’re still taking a crap?”
“Give me the phone,” I said. “I’m going to tell him the truth.”
Vince smirked. “No way.”
“Yeah. Come on. Give me the phone.”
“You’re really going to tell him you lied and went camping in the woods in the middle of winter with no adult supervision?”
“Yes. Now give me the phone.”
I still didn’t know if I’d go through with it. Maybe once I opened up the phone, I’d pretend I was still at Vince’s house and his parents were out for the moment, or busy.
But I didn’t get the chance.
Because Vince, in his infinite wisdom, tossed the ringing phone up into the air. His aim was perfect. The phone flew out the roof’s ventilation hole in a splendid arc. The sound of its ring was swallowed by the degrading weather outside.
I stared at Vince, my mouth hanging open. I wanted to knock that cheesy, stupid dumb-ass grin right off his face. “You idiot!” I shouted. “Why’d you do that?”
“I just solved your problem,” Vince said. “Now you can’t hear the phone, so there’s no need to answer it.”
Chapter 11
I reached into my great big bag of curse words and hurled them at Vince, one after the other.
“Settle down,” Vince said. “I did you a favor. Besides, if you told your folks the truth, then my folks would find out, too.”
“I thought you said they wouldn’t care!”
Vince shrugged. “Well, maybe they would.”
I slumped against the igloo wall. “Geez. Thanks a lot.”
“Mellow out, would you? The fact is, you’re out here, and you’re pretty much stuck here until we leave tomorrow, so why worry about it?”
“Because if Mom and Dad can’t get a hold of anyone on the phone, first thing they’ll do is check out your house. Then when they find out nobody’s home, they’ll call the cops. Then there’ll be search parties and I’ll be on the news, and you’re a damn idiot!” I blurted.
“If they don’t get a hold of anyone on the phone,” Vince said, “they’ll assume we’re watching a movie with the sound turned way up and no one can hear the phone. Okay? Or maybe they’ll think everyone turned in early for the night. Okay? That’s all that’s gonna happen.” Vince shook his head. “You think too much. You worry too much. Thank God you’ve got me to straighten you out.”
“Oh yes,” I said, my sarcasm making the igloo walls sweat. “Thank God you got me in this situation.”
“Look, if it wasn’t for me, you’d have never gone canoeing. You’d have never gone camping. You’d have never gone skiing. There’s a lot of stuff you’d never have done if it weren’t for me. When I met you, you were the ultimate couch potato.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I lay down on my sleeping bag, staring at the roof.
“Your parents are afraid of everything,” Vince mumbled. He tossed some more wood on the fire. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll go out and get the phone.”
“Forget it,” I said.
“I have to take another piss, anyway.”
I moved aside to let Vince crawl out of the small exit. His prosthetic leg scraped behind him on the snowy floor.
He was only five when he lost his leg, just below the knee, to cancer. He once showed me a photo album his mother had put together of the years just after the surgery. They were pictures of Vince in rehab, learning to walk again. They showed him falling. Getting up again. Falling. Getting up again. Struggling, struggling, then…
Walking.
Jogging. Swimming.
Running.
In all of the p
ictures, he had that dumb-ass grin working its way across his face.
That stupid, wonderful dumb-ass grin.
I remembered looking through those pictures and realizing he’d done more with his one leg the year after his surgery than I’d done in my entire life with two legs.
It was a strange feeling. A sick feeling.
So I had a lot of respect for Vince even if he was an asshole at times.
Vince crawled back into the igloo. “Couldn’t find it,” he said.
Chapter 12
“What do you mean you couldn’t find it?” I asked.
Vince pulled off his ski mask and shook the snow out of it. He sniffed, then wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I mean I couldn’t find it,” he said. “There’s a blizzard outside. I could hardly see.”
A blizzard. Great. Just the thing to elevate my mood to new heights of joy.
“It’s got to be somewhere along the base of the igloo,” I said.
“Believe me, I looked.” Vince slid off his coat and shivered. “I even got down on my hands and knees and felt around.”
“And it’s gone?”
“It’s gone.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “It can’t be.”
“Go look for yourself, then,” Vince said, poking a stick into the fire.
“Okay. I will.” I pulled my jacket, boots, gloves and ski mask back on and squeezed through the tunnel, crawling outside.
Vince wasn’t kidding about the blizzard. Snow fell fast and heavy. The temperature had dropped significantly. I blinked into the swirling snow, barely able to see the nearest tree. I readjusted my ski mask, pulling it around my eyes and mouth, and crawled along the perimeter of the igloo, shoving my hands into the fresh snow, feeling for the familiar hard shape of the cell phone.
Was it waterproof? Would it even work if I found it?
Slowly, I circled back to the entrance. No luck.
I stood, disoriented by the dizzying snow.
Okay, maybe it flew further than we thought. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the moment Vince threw the phone out of the igloo, tried to remember the direction he’d thrown it, the exact angle it had flown. Opening my eyes, I blinked into the blinding snow.
