We do what we can

To protect them and keep them safe when they're young.

Never really knowing

the harm we may be causing

in the future

They grow-up so fast.

The Crate

A slight bit of whimsy could be seen in the old lady's eyes as Harold’s body tumbled over the side of the bridge, making an insignificant little splash in the river below.

 She folded his wheelchair back into the trunk, and as she drove home she thought of watching Barney Miller when it came on.
  

 Just about two weeks to the day, a person calling himself Stewart Beaker stood at her front door asking if he could come in. 

"I've just a few questions.  It's about the order your husband placed.  There are some delivery preparations that should be made.  We sent him a letter." 

"What order?" the old woman asked, stroking a scraggly old cat that she held under one arm.

"Is your husband at home?"

 "Whatever he ordered, cancel it."

 "He's already paid for it in full.  It can't be cancelled now.  You're scheduled for a Saturday delivery.  It will be here in two days.  I hope you've made preparations.  It was all spelled out in the letter"

 "I don't know anything about any order.  Now just go."  And with that she closed the door.

 That Friday night the old woman dozed off after finishing her dinner.  The cats were perched about the living room and the television flickered and droned on without direction.

 Startled awake by the ringing phone she grabbed at it.  "Hello?"

 "Sam Fishman here, just calling to remind you about tomorrow's delivery.  Someone must be there to sign.  Everything must be ready, you know, according to the instructions."

 "I don’t know about any delivery?  Leave me alone." 

 She pulled the phone plug from the receiver and left it lying on the table next to her chair.   Boots jumped to the arm of the chair and then stepped onto the old woman's lap.  As she stroked the top of his head, he curled up and purred loudly.

   "What did that old fool order?"  But Boots only blinked under the heavy stroke of the woman’s hand.

  

                    Boots jumped onto the bed and began to nudge the old lady's arm.  Groggy and annoyed she rolled over and mumbled it was too early. Boots hopped up onto the nightstand and batted at the window curtains, causing shards of sunlight to strike her pillow.

          The old lady was just about to yell at the determined cat when she heard voices coming from the side yard.

  "Who is that Boots?  Who's in the yard?"  She sat up and slid her feet into her slippers.  Then she heard a very loud mechanical sound.  Pulling her robe around her she went over to the window and drew the curtain back.  Boots leaned over and peeked around the edge of the curtain as well.

          An 18-wheeler had backed up into the side yard and a large crane was hoisting a huge crate off of the truck bed and was placing it onto the ground.  Her first inclination was to wrap on the window and yell at them to get out of her yard, but before she could, the front doorbell rang.

          She snatched Boots up under her arm and headed for the front door.  He began to meow, but not so much to ward off intruders, as it was to express to the old lady that just moments ago he had filled up on salmon flavored crunches.

     The old lady's steps were deliberate and forceful, jostling poor Boots as she walked.

          With her free hand she unlocked the door and flung it open, ready to chastise whoever it was that had the audacity to violate her Saturday morning, and trespass onto her property. 

          Sam Fishman stood sharply, clipboard in hand, ready to greet Harold, the man with whom he had secured the sale.

  As the door opened he could see an elderly woman with a course scowl, holding a cross-eyed (though not Siamese) cat under her arm.

          "What do you want?"  She growled between clenched teeth.

          "We'll need a signature." He replied, holding out the clipboard.

          It was, of course, at that exact moment that Boots ejected a brown stream of mostly digested salmon flavored crunches onto the signature page.

          "There you go." the old woman said, and flung the door closed.

 

 They had been childhood sweethearts and were married the moment he returned from the war.  You never saw one without the other and you could always see the love they had for each other in their faces.

          As they grew old together they formulated a pact.  He would always say, "Should anything happen to me, just take me out to the bridge and toss me over and remember, not a word to Social Security."  Then he would laugh and laugh.
 

          It had always been her desire, in the event she went first, that she have an Indian-Polish cremation.  This is a little known tradition whereupon your body rests on an elevated wooden platform.  Underneath – a gross of accordions are set ablaze.   

          Now that Harold was gone, the old woman sat alone with her cats.  There were never any visitors and Harold's Social Security and retirement checks kept coming in just like clockwork.  The only change to her surroundings was the large crate now sitting out in the side yard.

          The crate had been out there for several months, and only once did the old lady wander out there for a closer look.

  From the side of the crate she had peeled back a plastic envelope and removed the enclosed document.

At the top of the document, in German, it read,

 Beiliegend, 144 Begräbnis- Akkordien

          She smiled, thinking that Harold must have known that his time was drawing near and to help in her preparations, whenever it became her time to go, he had ordered her 144 funeral accordions.

  

The story is true.  It took place several years ago in Ashtray, Wisconsin.

When Harold had placed the accordion order with Sam Fishman, he had explained the pact that he had with his wife.  Several years later, Sam was one of the few attendees at the old woman’s funeral.  

He describes the ceremony as one of the most moving events he has ever witnessed, although he claims that even to this day, the smell of melting accordions brings a tear to his eye and makes him a little nauseous.

Sam is retired now and lives just outside of Elbow, a suburb of Ontario.

As the Crow Flies

The message is in the journey

Walk this Way

If there are Pelicans on the Menu –

don’t dangle your toes in the soup.

          In 1975 we stood up and left a restaurant for no other reason than its’ resemblance to a mortuary.  The wait staff wore tuxedos, the dark, burgundy drapes were thick enough to keep out any flicker of hope, and other than the sound of our own hearts the place was dead silent.  Just being shown to our table was eerie.  The 90-year-old seating host seemed to take exaggerated steps.  I kept expecting him to turn to us and say, “Walk this way.”

          This was a beach community in an “Old Money” type neighborhood.  It is always easy to tell the old money.  There are telltale signs everywhere, although driving to the restaurant we obviously missed them as the high walls, fountains, and sculptured topiaries obstructed our view.   

An Ounce of Pretension

is worth a Pound - Sixpence

         

          I have often wondered where old money comes from.  Flickering black and white movies of Europe and various garlic-bergs did not reflect images of prosperity, but just the contrary.  Even when Europe was new it looked old, worn and used up, and yet here, migrated to the States are these pockets of wealth, with oceanfront restaurants. 

          I had some distant relatives with “Old Money”.  They kept plastic on the furniture, various rooms were actually roped off with velvet cords and stanchions like those used in movie theaters, and their cars were purchased without extras or options.  No radio, no wheel covers, no floor mats, and no ashtray.

          The concept of “The American Dream” is as old as Europe itself.  The obvious problem is that we as individuals don’t have the same dreams.  While you may be dreaming of owning a castle with indoor plumbing, I may be dreaming of the world’s largest coconut cream pie.  We’re all different.  Add to that the seemingly endless differences in language, the various dialects, occasional impediments, and the odds of you getting your exact wish plummets.

          I expect that if I were to chase the American Dream, I’d be doing it on foot, and would be out of breath long before you could say, “What’s the matter with that guy?”

          Most everyone else would arrive before me and the only thing left would be a job as a seating host.  With tired and blistered feet, I as well would probably walk funny. 

It would have to be Elmer's

          Mental lists are made and reviewed in waiting rooms, usually unrelated to the situation at hand.  I concentrated on the step-by-step way I would fix the gutter at home.  I thought about the nails I would use and the industrial strength construction adhesive that I would line the seams with.  I thought about the ladder, its sturdiness and…

 

          None of these things, of course, had anything to do with why I was there.  It was simply a diversion.  I didn’t want to allow my thoughts to drift towards the immediate situation.  If I had mentally headed down that path I would have started to consider all the things that could possibly go awry, and from there it would just get worse.

 

          Eventually I picked up a magazine.  I paged through it knowing full well that without my glasses every page was going to be just one colorful blur after another.  But it didn’t matter.  My thoughts quickly ran back to me atop the extended ladder, leaning back so that I could swing the hammer enough to hit the nail.  I could feel the rungs through the bottoms of my worn tennis shoes, an unavoidable discomfort, not to mention my stretching leg muscles.   Now, with my left arm looped through the ladder while my fingers aligned the nail, my right hammer hand reached back and…

 

          Actually, when envisioning myself up on the ladder, the real image I have is of a giant corn-dog on a stick, with the entire Mosquito Nation closing in for the feast.

 

          The television up in the corner of the waiting room was playing some soap opera with a string of sub-titles running along the bottom of the screen.   As I watched the words scroll by I began to wonder what committee determined the speed at which the words would travel.   I’m sure that someone somewhere did a study, took a survey and coordinated their findings with a Reader’s Digest comprehension formula that told them that every word must remain on the screen for no less than 5 seconds, and no more than 9, allowing for…

 

          Just then a gentleman in a lab coat, carrying a clipboard walked in.   He took the seat next to me, and in a low voice said, “Mr. Corwin, it took a little longer than we thought.  Once we were in there we found quite a bit of sludge in the crankcase.  We also had to replace two of the hoses coming from the…”

 

          But I had stopped listening.  As he was talking – my eyes were scanning the bottom of the clipboard.  I was looking for the total.   How much in American dollars was this going to cost me?

 

  To my shock and horror I saw… Page 1 of 4.

 

          Wow!  There was no way I was going to be able to afford the industrial strength construction adhesive.

ZC

A Stretch

        Last Thursday we had a man come in and stretch out the bumps in our carpet.  Although I don't really know how they got there, the bumps somehow developed.  At first it was just a matter of stepping over them, but as they grew they became like hurdles.  We, as well as the cat, would have to get a running start down the hall to get up and over them.

          The carpet guy was right on time and was the kind of person who was instantly likable.  Although he was a talker, he wasn't simply jabbering.  He was very knowledgeable in a large variety of subjects.  If you remember a character named Stretch Cunningham on the old Archie Bunker show, well that is what Tom, the carpet guy, looked like. 

          In the short time he was here I got an education about carpet, carpet stretching, gardening, growing and drying spices, the problem with carpeted stairs, his work history, his neighbors, and his Mother.

          At one point I thought I was listening to a detective as he described our living habits down to a tee just by looking at the wear, and traffic patterns throughout the house.  

          I hadn't even known there were Carpet Bump Guys.  I don't recall it ever being mentioned during Career Day in High School. 

          After he left I was still thinking about the wide variety, and depth of knowledge he had.   I expect it was acquired after many years of coming face to face with all of the things people sweep under the rug.  

ZC

Christmas - Help!

  

          As is the case with many male Americans, I hit the stores around Christmas time, looking for the perfect gift.  Not having been a shopper for the past 11 months, I find I require some assistance. 

          The problem, however, is that the stores have loaded themselves up with Christmas-help.  These are temporary employees tasked with assisting shoppers like myself.  The Christmas-help unfortunately is wandering about the store just as lost as I am.  They have little to no training, and go immediately into shock when asked a question.

          This entire system of gearing up for the holidays needs serious attention.  Shopkeepers must find themselves being bombarded with questions, not only from customers, but also from the multitude of timid new-hires attempting to field questions on their own, but lacking the skill, knowledge, and wherewithal to comprehend their own shoe size.

          Might I suggest the following:

          Team Jerseys; All employees who have been on the job for one week or less must wear jerseys displaying a large number one on the front and back.  Those having two weeks experience would wear the number 2, and so on.

          Now, with this system in place, Joe Shopper can walk in and if he is looking for just anything, he can seek out a number 1 and together they can wander through the store making little discoveries.  However, should Anita Sumptonspecial come rushing in, she can immediately head for a number 4 or 5.

          That’s it.  It’s simple, and it works. 

          Please comment with your suggestions or ideas.  Opposing views are always welcome.

Z. Corwin

In Lieu of Flowers

            Last week’s Left 2 Write did not appear on your computer screen, as many of you may have noticed.  This was not an oversight and it had nothing what so ever to do with Sunspots.  It was, what we here at Left 2 Write Headquarters like to call, a transitional void.

            This terminology suggests that some sort of transition was in progress at a time when this blog should have been generated and distributed, and truly that was the case.  Everyone on the blogging staff was taking part in the funeral service for our beloved dishwasher. 

            For those of you who knew Ken Moore, you’ll no doubt understand when I say; there wasn’t a dry eye in the house; or a dry shoe, or a dry sock, you name it, it wasn’t dry.

            Ken will be missed,  like so many areas on the dishes, glasses and silverware. 

            A replacement for Ken will follow a brief period of mourning and afternoon shopping at our local appliance store.

            We here at Left 2 Write wish to thank everyone for their kind words, and generous donations during these past few cycles.

            Please watch for this blog to return to your screens next week, and as always, wash, rinse, repeat, wash, rinse, repeat.

           

 ZC

Just check back ..

Time is the hunter, painting the leaves with color, and my face with lines.  It takes me by the hand and walks me along an uneven curb, knowing eventually I'll slip.  It is up to me to focus on balance, to be sure of each step before it is taken.

It is on a windy hilltop this morning where I set upon this folding chair, my keyboard perched on this wobbly tray, and I type a few stray thoughts.  The first being that I should have brought a cushion, for it is the comfort level of this chair that will determine the duration of this essay.

The outward eye would have me write of flowers, Elms or the fluttering bustle that is this hilltop rush hour.  Brilliant reds, and muted auburn's fall and dance past my drab shoes.

Although beautiful, I do not pause at this canvas, for it remains my inward eye that sees beyond color, and movement.  Even here, in the midst of Nature, I find that I contemplate the plight of Man, the ills of society, and I question, as have you, the mysterious edge of infinity.

Today I set out to explore that which extends just beyond the edge, casting light upon regions too often left to shadows.   It will be my attempt to extrapolate from existing data, not falling short of creating a blend of educated conjecture into a comprehensive picture of the unknown. 

I really do need to go and get a cushion, however, so I'll work on this a little later.

Sorry for the interruption

They've just never seen a blog close-up before.

I can fix that.

The Capistrano Diet Book

- Or -

It’s the Swallows that get you.

Written by: Zobostic Corwin

       Somewhere out there, there is a cookie with your name on it.  Today there is a movement to slim down Americans.  Statistics indicate that obesity has taken the lead in this country as the number one cause of being overweight.   I may have worded that incorrectly, but you get my drift.

          Human nature, and our general propensity to eat things that taste good, has led us down this path.  From an early age we are given positive reinforcement, treats if you will, as a reward for engaging in a behavior that apparently pleases some second party.  Now that second party is sitting back and calling us chunky.  How rude is that?

          The Capistrano Diet Book has been designed with you in mind.  Not the YOU that you project to others, but the real you, the deep down, warts and all you.  This is not a program designed to sell you diet products, nor is it a club to join.  This is simply a book.  I thought I was specific about that in the title.  Try and pay attention, things will move along much faster.

          I also need to mention that when you finish reading this book you will not be slim.  As you appear today, so shall you be tomorrow.  However, if you read my entire series of books, without snacking, and avoiding fat, sugar, carbs, and get plenty of exercise as you read, then by the time you’ve completed my very last book, I think you will be very pleased.   Note:  As of today there is no projection as to the number of books to be in this series, nor has a completion date been anticipated.  Additionally, nothing in this book has anything to do with the actual town of San Juan Capistrano; it’s history, citizens or their collective weight.

         

Page 2

          I’m proud of you.  You have come a long way since beginning that first page.  This tells me that you are serious, if not about losing weight, then at least about seeing what it is I say next.  If you’ll think back to that first page, you’ll remember that I mentioned a cookie being out there somewhere with your name on it.  I should confess at this point that I was speculating.  Think about it.  How could I possibly know what your name is?  Since the onset of this relationship I’ve been doing all the talking.  You haven’t said boo.  But that’s OK, because we don’t cover Halloween until the third book.

          We have various facets of the weight loss movement taking place simultaneously. We have the research people delving into the specifics of chemical, biological, and physiological changes that take place as our systems process certain foods, food additives, and organically grown products.  We also have the advertisers pushing the high-profit, UN-healthy snack foods at us.  These two segments do not even address the medical community’s emphasis on health.  But on a positive note, the medical community appears, for the most part, to be in agreement that good health is the desirable goal.   Options to optimum health conditions will be discussed in books to follow, as will discussions of those doctors who, for reasons of financial gain, tend to suggest alternate avenues for weight control.  You will know them by the cars they drive.

          Cutting to the chase, there is only one obstacle between you and your weight goal.  Once you accept this as fact, you can start on your journey to a slimmer, trimmer you.  Of course I’m talking about your brain.  Yep, your control center is that part of you that rationalizes your intake.  How often have you said this?  “Oh, well if YOU made them, I guess I should try one.”  Or  “This one piece of cake won’t hurt me, I’ll exercise twice tomorrow.”

          That is the weak, destructive side of your brain.  The real battle is to attack your thought process.  Trust me, once we accomplish this, everything else will follow.  If you can learn to control your thoughts, you’ll find less and less contraband going into your shopping cart.  After a short time, all of this will become as natural as breathing.   You will be eating healthy and exercising more and buying this book for your friends.

Page 3

          So now you’re asking just how are you going to change or keep these thoughts in check.  Let me ask you a question first.  When you read that last section that suggested this was a simple process of thought control, how many of you quickly argued with me, or made some snide comment?  Come-on, show of hands…

          I thought so.  Your brain has already gotten wind of this attempt to overthrow it, and it is now on alert.  This is going to be tougher than I thought.  Here, try this; keep reading, but turn off the internal sound.  Really, finish this book without reading it to yourself.  We’re going to have to sneak up on your brain when it least expects it.  I would guess about 15 pounds from now you will be able to go back to reading your normal way, but for now shut down that internal voice.

          Ok, good.  Your brain seems to be clueless.  Now that there’s just the two of us, lets begin to clear the path that you will soon be walking down.  It’s good to think of it as a path, that way all of the obstacles that your brain will be throwing in front of you can be viewed as weeds growing in the path.  We’ll be pulling those weeds as we go, keeping it clear and stumble free.  It is easy to spot a weed from, say… a cauliflower.  The cauliflower is a large, healthy looking plant that will give you nourishment.  Weeds are small, dark, evil things, like brownies, cookies and candy.  Yes, believe it or not, candy is a very prevalent weed.  It seems to sprout up between the cracks in the walk, and it slithers up the sides of counters and spreads rapidly.  Before you know it, it is in lunchrooms, offices, in your home, and it even works it’s way into your car.

          Before you know it, you’ll be an expert at spotting weeds and pulling them out at the roots.  Not long after that, you’ll notice that the path you are on hasn’t a single weed anywhere.  The control you will have gained over your brain will keep you on a clear path to health and fitness.  Ok, too rosy?  Remember, I did warn you that it is the swallows that will get you.  If there is a good and bad to everything, then the swallows are the evils that plague the Capistrano Diet.  Keep them in check, and you’re home free.  Remember, however, they will want to return, year after year, but don’t let them.

Page 4

          Self-defeating behaviors are fertilizers that feed weeds.  They are tricks that your brain will play on you.  (The Morton’s are coming over on Saturday night.  Gee, I better get some desert in the house.  I have to have something to serve them).  This is simply your brain playing its polite card.  We all want to be polite, and cordial, so off to the store we go, so our company can have hors d’oeuvres, and desert, and Oh, I might as well buy some ice cream while I’m here. 

          I know one guy in San Diego who hides his weeds.  He has little stashes all over the house.  He figures that out-of-sight is out of mind.  Not so.  Out of sight is simply a swallow waiting to return.  He tells himself that it helps to have chocolate in the house, that way he won’t want it.  EXCUSE ME.  HELLO?  He already wants it – which is why he went out and put it into his shopping cart.  Do you realize that if shopping carts were living things, with all the junk food that we put into them they would be too fat and out of breath to make it down the aisles.

         

          Say, there’s a thought.  Remove the wheels from shopping carts.  They will be so heavy and cumbersome to drag down the aisles that you will shop less, buy less, and in so doing, eat less.  Eureka!  Book # 2, here I come.

          All right, maybe not.  Let’s move on.

         

         Author's note:

         This may be a reprinting of an earlier post.  If you remember having read it before - give yourself five extra points.  (I'll know if you cheat). 

Should ever you come looking

You’ll find me in an afterthought

or within a passing glance,

You’ll find me in the spring time

so brief when Tulips dance –

Down cobblestones of yesterday

in distant church bells left to ring

I’ll be there in the corner bar

not quite in tune I’ll sing,

Should ever you come looking

for a memory or two

You’ll find me with a pleasant smile

as I remember you.

Probably a Best Seller

It's this one

The Seal of Approval

Museum: Year 2048

Up on the fourth floor of the museum, over by the window, sits a public drinking fountain.  These existed throughout the city for anyone to have a free drink of clean water.

Absolutely unheard of at today's

drinking water prices.

$72.00 an ounce

The Companion

Everyone else had gone to bed.  The campfire was barely hanging on but I was not at all tired.  I had two small flashlights with me; if I were real adventurous I’d just head off into the darkness.  I’d test my own mental stability just to see how far I could get before I scared myself listening to all the noises and imagining various creatures sneaking up on me.

What the heck.  I tossed one more log onto the fire just to keep it going so I might look back at some point and get a reference as to how far I’d actually gone.  I was already telling myself this was a dumb idea.  If I got myself lost or hurt I’d have zero options.  I’d have no idea where I was, I’d have no food or water and no way to communicate.  Cell phone towers were nowhere to be found out this far.  There would be no hope of getting a signal, that’s for sure.

OK, I stopped at the edge of our campsite.  I had already worked myself into a tizzy about the hazards of wandering off like this.  Just how stupid was I?  That’s when I heard a voice ask me what I was doing.  I looked back at one of the tents and saw the campfire light reflecting off of Steven’s face.

“I’m thinking about going for a short hike.”

“Now?” Steven whispered.

“I’m not at all tired.”

“Wait there, I’ll get dressed and go with you.”

“It could be dangerous.” I said, but Steven had already ducked back into the tent to get ready.

Steven would not have been my first choice for a hiking companion but hey – strength in numbers, right?

When Steven finally climbed out of the tent I was surprised to see him with a full backpack.

“You look ready for action” I said.

“Just thought I’d try and be prepared, you know – for whatever.”

“Did you bring your own flashlight?”

“Right here.”

“OK, stay close behind me and try to be quiet as we go through the woods.”

Fifteen or twenty minutes into our hike I turned around to check on him.  He wasn’t far behind but had a look on his face that told me he was sorry for tagging along.  “I think some thorns went right through my jeans and got me” he said, rubbing his leg.

“Just what are you lugging in that pack, anyway?”

As he caught up to me he hoisted it off of his shoulders. 

“It is a little heavier than I thought it would be.  I brought a first aid kit, extra batteries, four cans of Coke, some peanut butter crackers, gummy bears and two rain ponchos.”

“Give me the pack.  I’ll carry it for a while.”

“No, it was my bright idea to bring it, I’ll carry it.  What do you think about the things I brought?”

“Well, I’m sure animals out here can easily smell the peanut butter.  I think I would have left that behind.  Bears especially, if they get the scent of those peanut butter crackers we’re sure to have company.”

I turned and headed off again.  I was positive I had him second guessing his choices and couldn’t help myself from feeling a little devious. 

“How far are we going?” Steven whispered, in a somewhat exhausted voice.

“Let’s stop here.  We can rest up and then try to find our way back.”

We both sat against a tree and Steven opened the pack and pulled out two Cokes.  The sound of them opening was loud in comparison to the night.  Neither of us had been very quiet clomping through the woods so I doubted there were any animals around we needed to be concerned with.

“I know you said you have extra batteries with you but for now let’s conserve.  Keep your light off whenever we’re not walking.”

Steven clicked off his light and the two of us sat quietly.  I could hear the coke fizzing in the can and random scurrying in the bushes.  Steven hadn’t said anything.  I couldn’t tell if he was tired or scared;

maybe both.

At the same time we both noticed a light flickering off in the distance.  Neither of us said anything but Steven had nudged my arm to get my attention.  “I see it.” I whispered.

The light seemed to be getting closer to us but it was still a ways away.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Steven asked quietly.

“No.  If it was anyone from our campsite they’d yell out.  They would call our names and wait for a response.”

We just sat still and waited.

Apparently I nodded off while sitting there.  I hadn’t realized how tired I was and once we sat and rested against the tree, well… it was off to dreamland for me.

When I awoke Steven was not around.  I couldn’t believe he would just wander off by himself.  I’m not sure how long I had been asleep but everything was wet with morning dew.  The clouds were light and wispy and moving fast over the tree tops. 

I remembered the light off in the distance we’d both seen last night.  Maybe Steven had gone off to investigate.  Whatever it was he’d done, he took the backpack with him.  Even the empty Coke cans were gone.  I was quite hungry and just keep an eye out for him as I tried to find my way back to the campsite.

Nothing looked familiar and I hadn’t a clue as to which direction to head.  At least it was light enough to see now.  I wouldn’t have to follow the small circle of light from my flashlight.

Every now and then I’d stop walking, just to listen for voices.  So far there was nothing.  There was just the sound of me, making my way through the branches and the scampering squirrels.  On two occasions I saw a line of wild turkeys making their way someplace important.  Who knew what was important to a wild turkey but they seemed to be on a mission.

If I had picked the right direction I should be getting close to the camp by now, but still no sign of Steven.  Hopefully he was already back and cooking breakfast.  I knew that wasn’t realistic but where could he have gotten off to?

Off to the left, which I assumed was East, I heard a siren.  I didn’t think we were anywhere close to a highway but it was definitely a sheriff or ambulance.  I turned in that direction and kept making my way through the woods.  It was about another half mile when I could see our campsite as well as the emergency flashing lights.

Through a small clearing I could make out an ambulance and two police cars.  Now I was very concerned and found myself almost running to get there.  Not that running was much of an option through these branches.

When I finally reached the camp I could see someone on a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance.  Everyone else was looking stunned.  Nancy was sobbing.

“What’s going on?  What happened?”

Bill looked up at me but said nothing.  Aggie looked up and headed towards me. 

“Where have you been?” he snapped.

“I couldn’t sleep last night so Steven and I went for a hike.”

Suddenly Aggie was just staring at me.  I couldn’t really read his facial expression.  “What’s going on here, what’s happened?” I asked.

“Steven was with you?”  He questioned.

“Yes, why, isn’t he back yet?”

“Steven’s dead.  He passed away late last night in his sleep.”

“That’s impossible, he was with me.  We hiked a few miles into the woods just for something to do.  He brought his backpack, we drank Cokes.”

“Ned, you must have dreamt it.  According to the coroner, Steven must have died right after crawling into his sleeping bag.  He was bitten by a snake and died within seconds.”

I couldn’t believe this.  It just didn’t make any sense.  “Who called for the ambulance and how?  There are no signals out here. I’m sorry, but this can’t be.  I was with him, we talked to each other.”

Aggie walked back to be with the others.  He must have thought I was nuts.  I had to see for myself.  I headed for the ambulance but it was taking off just as I was getting there.

I could see Aggie talking to the others and pointing to me.

I wanted to walk over to them but I couldn’t.  I just stood there, stunned.  I know what I saw.  He was with me, we talked.  I remember looking back at the tent and seeing the campfire light reflect off his face.  I remember we both saw the light in the woods.  I didn’t dream that.

What I couldn't remember were any thorns.

      Zobostic Corwin