Inner Workings discussion

I lay in bed listening to the thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm had come on suddenly around 11:00. Wind, pounding rain and some crackling lightning for about half an hour before ending just as suddenly. I look at my clock. 11:35. Slipping on my sneakers, I grab my pail and head down the hall to the front door. Stepping out into the dark with the moon glistening on the wet pavement it's just like Dad said it would be. The driveway is covered with night crawlers. Real fat ones and more than I expected. Quickly I scoop up twenty or thirty with my hands and throw some mud in on top of them.

Earlier that day Dad had stopped by between jobs. “Look at this, Jelly”. He set a box on the kitchen table. I rummaged through it as he pulled a map from his work pants pocket and spread it out on the counter. The box had some odds and bits of fishing gear. I had been his assistant on fishing trips before so I was familiar with most of it. “My buddy Joe gave me the gear, it's some of his old stuff. He said tomorrow morning should be perfect. But you've got to get there early.” I pulled a chair over to the counter and got up beside him to take a look. He had refolded it to show the area we lived in. “This X is our house, and the next one is the main gate. Follow these directions I wrote in the middle to get to the back gate. From there you have to pay attention to the these three X's along here. I wrote in along the road what to look for. Now, you should be able to get there in about an hour so you'll want to leave just before sun up. Pack yourself a lunch and you can stay till 3. Make sure you get yourself back by the time your mom gets home.” “Neat,” I smiled, “what can I use for bait?” “Joe says some heavy rain should be coming through tonight. He says it'll wash up a fair sight of night crawlers. They'll be all over the driveway. Get right out there when the rain passes and just scoop up a bucket full. My basket's in the garage and there should be some good paper in there too. If you can get a fair catch this may be our spot. You won't get any mackerel in these rivers but there's some good trout. Now I gotta go. I'll see you some time tomorrow night.” He scooped me off the chair into a bear hug and set me down. I watched him back out of the driveway and then went back to the box.

Midnight. I tuck the pail of night crawlers under my bed, slip out of my shoes and set my alarm clock for 5 am. Sliding under the covers I quickly fall back asleep.

At dinner I had asked Mom for my pail and something to carry the gear in. She told me where to look up in the storage space for the pail and said I could have an old diaper bag that was up there too. After dinner I helped clean up then grabbed a chair and dragged it down the hall. The storage space was reached through a drop down ladder in the ceiling with a pull rope on the door. I found the pail and bag right away so I looked around for anything else I might need. I found one of Dads old hats and a pair of gardening gloves that might come in handy. I tucked these in the bag and got down from the crawl space. I stowed the bag with the gear from the box under my bed. After the little ones were asleep Mom let me go out back. “Get in by dark,” she said, then went to her room and shut the door. I climbed up on the back of the garage and sat to watch the sky change. It sure was pretty right before a storm. I thought about all the moves we'd made and wondered if I would make any friends here.

I shut off the alarm and lay still for a bit, listening to the quiet. Most days I get up to the noise and commotion of Mom and the kids. Today, for the first time this summer, I'll be gone before they get up. It feels good to have a job again. I make a sandwich of bread and cheese and take 2 peaches from the basket. I fill Dads canteen with water and stow it all with the gear. Quietly moving out the door by 5:30, I reach the main gate by sunup.

Two weeks ago we had moved into Family Housing just outside the main gate. I hadn't met any neighborhood kids yet. There didn't seem to be any playground around and school wouldn't start for three more weeks. It seemed all the moms and kids had gone away on vacation. I had seen a lot of service men. At the gate, riding patrol and in the stores. I was usually with Dad and they paid no attention to me. Dad seemed to make friends with everyone. Always chatting people up. I often wondered if I would be like him when I grew up. I hoped so.

As I walk along the railroad tracks a patrol truck passes. The horn toots and someone calls out “Hey there Jelly”. I wave and the truck keeps moving. I think it's one of Dads friends. The sun is moving up in the sky and it's starting to get sticky. I stop to take a drink from the canteen and put on Dads hat. I turn down the access road behind the PX and head for the back gate. There's little traffic here as it runs along the air strip and is only used for deliveries to the strip. The guard comes out as I approach and asks me where I'm headed. I show him Dads map and he agrees it's a fine spot for today but I'd better get moving. He says there'll be plenty of shade there but I should keep my hat on for the rest of the walk so I don't get burned. I ask him the time. The walk is longer than Dad thought. “6:30” he smiles, “You be careful.”

At 9 ½ I was small and quiet, with a lot of responsibilities. Being the oldest of five kids didn't leave a lot of time for friends and play. Mostly I was Moms assistant. Cooking, cleaning, minding the kids. Once a month Dad would get a weekend off and we would “run his errands”. These included getting his hair cut, playing horse shoes and drinking beers with his buddies at the club, finding other families to swap with and fishing. We had come from the Gulf Coast of Florida. Dad had a buddy with a boat and we could ride out for free if the boat wasn't booked. Dad would swap half our catch in place of a fee. I had never caught any of the King Mackerel but had done my share of cleaning and wrapping. Landing here in central New York we missed the fishing but Dad had arranged to get bushels of fresh fruit and vegetables in exchange for hitching trailers. This was dirty work, involving shimmying under the trailers to set the pin. Dad said he didn't want me doing this kind of dangerous work so when he gave me the fishing job I gladly took it. Although I did miss his company.

Sitting on a downed tree at the side of the road I study the map. I'm pretty sure this tree is the marker for the path I'm supposed to turn on. The tree's fallen into the underbrush and would be hiding the path if it's there. I'll have to climb over the tree and fight my way through the tangle of bushes to get to it. I take a swig from the canteen, make sure my gear is secure and tighten my laces. I find a good size stick to poke ahead of me just in case there are any snakes and leave the road.

If I'd been on my bike I'd have had to leave it there. There was no way I could have lifted that beast over the tree. Last year I'd learned how to ride a bike and Dad had brought home a beat up old Schwinn that was just a little too big for me. He'd fixed a basket on the back so I could ride it to the store for Mom. When we moved the bike was left behind. Dad said he would get me a new one for Christmas if we could save up any money from our side work. I would have to get by on hand-me-down clothes from my cousins and maybe one new dress for church. I thought this was a fair enough deal and wondered if I could make enough to get a watch too.

The path through the wood is well enough worn down by use but still a little scary. Only occasionally does the sun dapple down through the trees and lots of wildlife rustling and twittering all around. I'm glad for the map and my good sense of direction. When it finally gives out onto a dirt road I'm relieved. The suns up good and a breeze tousles the low brush on the other side of the road. From here I can hear the river.

I had been named Jean Louise. This had been turned into Jelly by my little brother and it had stuck. Mostly I didn't mind but last year in school some boys had been mean. I hadn't said anything to Mom or Dad but I'd spent a fair amount of time this summer playing with my name in my head. Dad always brought me to the first day at school and introduced me as “Jean Louise, we call her Jelly”. I had thought about talking to Dad about maybe walking in myself this year. I was pretty sure he would let me go. Dad always seemed to know when I was ready for something new.

I turn the bend in the road and see the bridge. Crossing the bridge, I make my way to a spot upstream. There's some shade and a rock to sit on so I decide to have a drink and peach before getting to work. It's a beautiful place and I wonder if I might want a camera instead of a watch. The river isn't as fast as I'd thought it would be. It's wide and lazy, rolling in and out of the sun. I can see some fish trying to pool in the shade of the bridge. I might get lucky and catch a few.

Dad had once told me, “It's a wonderful thing to be human. God gave us a brain that puzzles and figures and reasons. A voice to speak up or speak out or keep silent. A heart for love and strength and courage. A soul with humble aspirations. Each of us our own, to do with what we choose.” I always thought it was a wonderful thing to have gotten him for a dad.

Standing atop the rock, in the shade with the warm breeze at my back, I cast out towards midstream. I figure to let the current carry the line into the shadows and slowly reel in to get some attention from the poolers. Five or six would be a good days catch. Softly humming one of Dads tunes I set to work. The sun glints off the line and tackle just before it hits the water and I think of Dad and how much love he's put into everything he's taught me.

i like this story, marge :)
it reads like a memory of my own that never happened.