Roger E. Bruner's Little Home on the Web

Roger Bruner's Internet Home

Why Not?: Chapter One

Roger Bruner's Internet Home

Wait for Me: Chapter One

[Oh, my. In revising this manuscript again, I realized that adult readers will accuse me of having Julie and me think and talk like adults rather than little children. Sorry, folks, but I'm twenty-one now and I don't remember exactly how young children talk. Anyhow, I doubt that readers would want to read a novel that was partially written in kid-speak. - Kenny England]

"Mom?"
Mrs. Pointer looked up from her crocheting. "Yes, dear?"
Julie smiled at her mother sweetly-with a look of complete innocence. That was part of the plan. I knew what she was up to. What we were up to.
"May Kenny and I go walking on the beach by ourselves? We'll be careful. We promise."
I hid a smile with one hand. Because Julie had said may rather than can, we stood a better chance of a yes than if I had asked. Regardless of my grammatical expertise, I had the worst time remembering which word to use in asking permission.
Mrs. Pointer looked at my mom. I could almost hear the two women thinking, "These precious seven-year-olds are our only children. The beach is no place for them to wander off on by themselves."
So they shook their heads in unison. "Sorry, little ones," Mom said, "but we don't think that's a good idea. It wouldn't be safe."
That was the response Julie and I had expected. Fortunately, we were prepared with an alternate approach.
So I turned to my father, who sometimes viewed situations differently from Mom. "What do you think, Dad?"
He scratched his chin. Cautiously.
Uh-oh. You don't agree with our mothers, do you?
He thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know, Kenny." He turned to Julie's father. "What are your thoughts, Tom?"
Mr. Pointer scrunched his face thoughtfully. He looked at Julie and then at me. We looked back at him with pleading expressions we had perfected by watching our dogs successfully beg for treats and table scraps.
He cleared his throat. "This whole stretch of oceanfront is private property. It belongs to the beach house owner. That's why we rented this particular house, even though it was more expensive than most of the other places we considered.
"No Trespassing signs are posted everywhere; they're impossible to miss. We haven't seen a single stranger on the property. Or anyone, for that matter. Ladies, the kids wouldn't encounter anyone who shouldn't be there."
Several seconds later, he continued. "You know how trustworthy Julie and Kenny are. They're the most obedient kids we know. They've never done anything remotely dangerous."
"Anyhow," Dad took over, "how much trouble can they get into on the sand? It's beach sand out there, not quicksand. We can watch them the whole time from the upper deck of the house if we want to. If you want to." He chuckled. "Isn't that why each of you brought a pair of binoculars?"
Yes, we would still be in sight that way. So, you shouldn't have any reason to be concerned.
Our mothers looked at one another and then at us. Mrs. Pointer didn't appear to be totally convinced, but when Mom slowly nodded her approval, Julie's mother didn't protest. Not exactly. "You may go, but stay on the sand at all times. You are not to go into the water. NOT as in NOT AT ALL."
Julie and I high-fived.
No problem, moms. Yes, we would prefer to wade in shallow water rather than drag our feet across the dry, hot sand, but we wouldn't dream of doing anything to endanger our newly won freedom.
We assured them we would be good.
Off we went, hand in hand. Julie wasn't just my next-door neighbor, she was also my very best friend. I was hers, too. We were sweethearts, as much in love as if we were grownups. We were already planning to marry when we were old enough. So holding hands was just a natural thing for us to do.
The sand was even hotter and drier than we had expected. Julie and I sighed simultaneously. How wonderful the water would have felt on our feet and legs. We couldn't disobey our parents, though. We dared not and we wouldn't. What if we could come up with an acceptable compromise, though?
"Well, Julie? Whattaya think?" She knew what I was asking.
Even though we were both highly intelligent and out-of-this-world amazing when it came to putting our heads together to solve normal kid-size problems, nothing came to either of our minds at first. Or at second or third. We frowned at one another, frustrated at having to admit defeat. Just temporary defeat, I hoped.
After ten or fifteen minutes of slowly treading our way through the sand, we noticed that we were wandering closer and closer to where the incoming tide was washing onto the shore. Closer as in 'just a few inches from where the swash ended before going out again as backwash.'

[I found both of those words later when I looked them up on the internet. - Kenny]

I squeezed Julie's hand. "Looks like we've arrived at a solution even though we had quit trying. Or should I say we've almost stepped into one?" I cackled.
She stopped suddenly and frowned. "Don't the bottoms of your feet still feel like you've been walking on fire, Kenny?" She barreled on before I could respond. "Mine do." She lifted one foot and grimaced. "I can barely stand to put my foot down again."
You just wait, girlfriend.
I grinned. "You're right about that. Mine don't feel real great walking on this sand, either." But then I quickly added, "They'll feel better in a minute, though."
I looked into her eyes. "Here." I think I surprised her when I suddenly turned her hand loose. "The solution to this problem won't work if we keep holding hands. Now, just follow me and do what I do."
I kept my eye on the incoming swash and waited for the water to retreat. Then I jumped onto the wet sand it had left behind. Was it ever pleasantly cool and soothing. When I saw another wave headed for the shore, I hopped back onto the dry sand.
"Kenny, you're a genius!"
"Of course I am." Even though she knew I wasn't as conceited as I was pretending to be, she gave me a playful poke in the arm. "Our moms said, 'Don't go into the water.' Not 'Don't let the bottom of your feet get wet.'"
So we laughed joyously and then laughed some more as we jumped away each time we saw another wave washing up on shore. Twice we barely jumped back in time.
Even if we hadn't, though, we still wouldn't have been guilty of getting 'into the water.' That little bit of ocean would've gotten on us. Just on our feet.
I grinned at Julie. "Can you believe our parents agreed to let us come out here by ourselves?" I chuckled. "They're maturing unbelievably well in their middle age."
Julie stuck her tongue out. "Kenneth England, don't you dare let them hear you say that!"
I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes. "Say what? And why not?"
"They're barely into their mid-thirties now. They don't need us reminding them they're getting older."
I pursed my lips. "Hmm. I suppose not." I pulled at my chin. "Maybe they realize we're the ones maturing so beautifully."
She shook her head. "It doesn't really matter, does it? It doesn't take maturity to know not to worry about sharks or undertows on the beach away from the ocean itself."
She reached over and squeezed my hand. "No alligators, either." She giggled as she released my hand. "Of course, they're not salt water animals; so they're not found in the ocean." Her know-it-all tone could be irritating at times, but it didn't bother me then.
I looked at her and feigned ignorance. "How'd you know that?"
She smirked. "You know that science special they showed the last day of school?"
I nodded.
"Well, one of us was paying attention. I learned a lot of interesting stuff from it."
I rolled my eyes without responding at first. You're not the only one, sweetie.
Now to turn the tables. "You were right about alligators not being found in the ocean, but they can exist for very short times in salt water. Like in certain parts of the Everglades."
She gave me a huh-look. "How did-?" "What's wrong, girlfriend? Weren't you listening? I was. It was a really neat video." I kept going before she could say anything. "Wouldn't you love to have a pet alligator?" I couldn't keep from cackling. "You could let it eat your cat."
She punched me in the arm. A little harder than before. But it was still too gentle to take seriously. She knew I was just teasing about a gator eating her cat and I knew she was just pretending to be upset. That's how well we knew and got along with each other.
We didn't talk anymore for a while. We kept following one another down the beach, swinging our arms freely, toe-kicking the wet sand, and jumping away from the swash of incoming waves.
Ten minutes later we spotted a small body of water about a hundred yards away. Maybe two hundred. At that distance, it appeared to be no more than fifteen or twenty feet from the ocean.
I narrowed my eyes in thought. Then I pointed at the water. Assuming it was an inlet from the ocean, I said, "Do you suppose the water level goes down all the way when the tide goes out?"
She glanced at it, shook her head thoughtfully, and scrunched her face. As if she was wondering the same thing. But then she took another look at the presumed inlet and smiled. "I don't think so, Kenny. Look at the end of it." She pointed towards the ocean.
I looked carefully before shrugging. "What was I supposed to see?"
"That's not an inlet. It's a pond. A lagoon, if you prefer sounding well-educated and highfalutin. See where it's closed off? A very slight barrier of land separates it from the ocean."
Hmm. "I-"
"You know the driftwood we've been finding more and more of along the shore?"
I nodded. We were having to be careful not to trip on it.
"I don't see any around the pond itself. Do you?"
I shook my head.
"So the ocean couldn't have floated anything into the lagoon." Embarrassing me wasn't easy, but Julie had just done it. Apparently without intending to.
"Lagoon also sounds more romantic than pond. I wonder how deep it is." I hoped she wouldn't tease me for the way I'd changed the subject.
Julie gave her head an I-don't-know shake and punctuated her response with a shrug. Since I really wanted to know the depth of the lagoon, her inability to make an intelligent guess was disappointing.
Hmm. There must be some way to estimate it. But how?

"Where have you been?" Tommy Lassiter's question sounded more like an accusation of wrongdoing than an expression of concern. But then his tone softened. "It's late. We've been worried about you." Then he saw Rachel and me standing side by side and mouthed a satisfied 'Oh.'
"You and Rachel were out, Ben? Together, I mean?"
On a date, you mean? No, sir, not a date even though we want you to believe it was more than it was. Unbelievably more.
It took every bit of my determination to keep from laughing out loud. So far, our plan was working beautifully. Since the answers to those two questions were obvious-the answers we wanted him to believe-I returned to the question he had greeted us with. "I didn't think there was a curfew for seventy-five-year-olds like Rachel and me. I'm sorry if you were unnecessarily concerned."
Tommy's wife, Eileen, greeted us with more thoughtful concern. "Have you eaten yet? We finished dinner two hours ago. I'm afraid there aren't any leftovers. I can make you a couple of peanut butter sandwiches..."
Rachel smiled at her. "No worries, Eileen. Ben and I ran into each other on the boardwalk and enjoyed a wonderful meal together at Something's Fishy. The conversation was so enjoyable we lost all track of time."
Eileen gave her husband a poorly hidden thumbs-up. "Isn't that sweet, Tommy?"
Time for me to keep the game going. "Rachel is great company. Terrific. Amazing." I gave my companion one of my sweetest smiles.
She returned it. "So is Ben."
Yes, our little scheme appeared to be working. No way were we going to tell them the truth. It would only discourage them, and we wanted to discourage them in a different way. A more permanent one.

<°)))><

Three hours earlier, I had been sitting on a bench on the boardwalk looking out at the ocean when I sensed rather than heard someone walking up behind me. A moment later a woman's voice said, "May I join you, Ben? It looks like you have some room on that bench."
I reluctantly turned my attention from the incoming tide to the woman who'd just interrupted my tranquillity with her request to share my bench. My bench? It was the bench I would have been sharing with my wife Patricia if that drunk driver hadn't...if he hadn't killed her and left me with a year of loneliness.
A single year plus the finite number of years left for me to live.
I recognized the woman's white hair and slightly wrinkled face. Although I couldn't remember her name, she was one of the other seven senior adults from church who had gone in together to rent a six bedroom beach house for a weeklong getaway to Ocean City. No matter how I longed to refuse her request-I valued solitude even more now than in years past-I couldn't be rude.
I'm afraid my "Why not?" response didn't sound as pleasant as it could and should have, though. So I tipped my plaid cap and added in the most positive tone I could muster, "Sure. There's room. Have a seat."
Just don't expect me to start a conversation or be very responsive if you do. I don't feel like talking...or listening.
She sat down in the center of the bench, leaving barely the equivalent of a single personal space between us. "Isn't that the most gorgeous sunset you've ever seen?"
When I turned away without responding, she mmmed sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I should have been more considerate. Patricia should have been sitting with you enjoying the view, not me."
I sighed. More loudly than I had intended. That woman had hit and splattered the bullseye of my mood, leaving it to bleed all over me figuratively.
When I didn't respond, she said, "I know how you feel."
I turned towards her again to insist as abruptly as I could that she did not know how I felt and couldn't know, but she didn't give me a chance to object before she continued. "Only to a very limited extent, I mean. My husband, Paul, died of cancer five years ago."
Do I remember that? Maybe...
She looked into my eyes. "I know, Ben. That's not the same as Patricia's fatal accident, but grief is grief and loneliness is loneliness. I'm still dealing with mine, and I know you are, too."
She paused momentarily as if waiting for me to respond. When I didn't, she said, "It must be worse for you, though. At least I knew Paul was dying and I started adjusting to that reality and doing much of my grieving ahead of time."
In spite of the twinge of sympathy I felt for her, I hoped she would leave it at that. I had heard as much about Paul's death as I needed to. And more than I wanted to.
"At this stage it's probably not so much the grief that's haunting me, but a lingering sense of aloneness. Even though Paul and I didn't have nearly as close a relationship as you and Patricia, the physical absence of the man I spent so many years of my life with has taken some adjusting to."
I get that, lady. "Aloneness is a huge problem for me, too."
"Ben, do you-?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt. My aging brain isn't very good at remembering names. I'm not sure it ever was, but what-?"
She giggled. In a soft, dignified, ladylike kind of way. "My brain isn't, either. I'm Rachel. Rachel Long. And I...I've obviously remembered that your first name is Ben, but I'm afraid I can't remember your last name."
I couldn't keep from laughing. "Then 'There's a pair of us. Don't tell.' Thank you for those words of wisdom, Emily Dickenson, even though you weren't talking about old people and the forgetfulness that plagues us. My surname is Duncan."
She giggled again. "At least you didn't have any trouble remembering Emily Dickenson's name."
I nodded. "I'll do my best to remember yours now, too. At least your first name is biblical. That should help."
She smirked pleasantly. "Just don't mix me up with Rachel's sister Leah, please."
Several minutes passed silently. Hopefully the conversation was over. I didn't need any further discussion of forgetfulness. Or of death, grief, and aloneness.
But then Rachel sniffled once. And a second time. "Ben, I almost didn't come on this trip. I didn't really want to, but..."
Same here. "Why not, Rachel?" Good. At least I haven't forgotten your name yet. "I mentioned aloneness a moment ago."
I groaned silently. Must you bring it up again?
"I...do you realize you and I are the only two single oldsters on this trip? Uh, the only two who're not here as husband and wife, I mean. I only use the word single to refer to people who're actively searching for a spouse. I am not one of them."
Whew. "I'm definitely not, either." Mental pictures of our six other housemates flashed through my head. Not as individuals, but two by two. Three couples. Like animals entering the ark. I could label them as Lassiters, Andersons, and Phillips, but I could barely recall which ones were which. Except for the Lassiters, I was at a total loss about their first names.
"I hadn't thought about it before, Rachel. What you said about us being the only two unmarrieds. You're right, though. Each of those couples is free to share a bench like this one and snuggle and kiss and act all lovey-dovey without embarrassment."
She and I looked at each other. Her "But we can't" and my "Not us, though" collided in mid-air. Mine was stronger. More emphatic. More determined.
"I'm sorry, Rachel. I don't mean to imply that we..." The rest of that sentence evaporated into the sunset. Truth is, I didn't know what I was trying to say.
"Don't worry about it. I know what you meant. Here you and I are an elderly widow and widower on a trip to the beach and we're surrounded by happily married couples. There's no reason-none that I know of, at least-why we can't enjoy one another's company, is there?"
I let that sink in before responding. "Not as long as it's perfectly clear that no romance is to be involved."
"I couldn't agree more. I never managed to break Paul in properly." Her giggle contained a hint of regret. "I was still trying to up to the time of his death. It's no wonder I don't have any interest in attempting to train another man at this stage of my life."
Both of us cracked up.
"So..." Should I say it? Or would it be premature? "So the two of us can safely and appropriately become 'just friends'?"
Rachel cocked her head to one side and then straightened up again. "You won't be offended if I say 'potential friends,' will you? No matter how much we've enjoyed conversing these last few minutes (I have, anyhow), I'm not sure that a discussion of aloneness and deceased spouses is necessarily a sound basis for friendship."
Talk about being cautious...and a mind reader. How about letting me change the subject?
"If I recall correctly, you asked if this wasn't the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen." I scratched my head. "No, actually you said, 'the most gorgeous' one. I'm afraid I was too busy watching the waves to pay attention to the sky.
"You want to know the truth? I try to avoid thinking about sunsets, much less enjoying and appreciating them."
She narrowed her eyes. "Really, Ben? Why?"
"When I see the sun sinking below the horizon, I picture my life going downhill more rapidly day by day until nothing is left but an album of memories for those who're left behind. Memories, some better than others, that will soon sink into oblivion."
"Oh, my. That's depressing, don't you think?"
I looked into her bright blue eyes. She was right. "I suppose it's not proper for a Christian to feel that way, though, is it? Not with Heaven to look forward to."
She didn't respond.
"You know what, Rachel?" The ability to address her by name was starting to feel good.
She shook her head.
I permitted myself to smile at her. "You're right about the sunset. This is the most gorgeous one I've seen in quite some time. Thank you for helping me to notice and appreciate that. I'm not Paul and you're not Patricia, but we're here together and I'm thankful we can enjoy this sunset together."
Rachel sniffled a time or two. "Me, too, Ben."