Nothing But Time

It never occurred to me how important the simple things in life were until I met Sookie Jensen. It was springtime, early Saturday morning, and I had just stepped into the local hardware store for a forty pound bag of water softener salt when a sheet of notebook paper on the bulletin board caught my attention. It read, "Handyman available. Experienced. Call..."and it gave the number. It got me thinking. I wonder if he could help with my gardening project?

            For the last two years I'd been on a grow your own kick. I'd tried planting tomatoes and green beans with a pathetic amount of success. Bug ridden, spindly plants lacking in anything worth eating had been the order of the day. Couple that with the fact that my efforts had become a source of ongoing amusement to my wife, well, let's just say that the note had me intrigued. Up until then I'd been about ready to cancel the entire project and buy from the local farmer's market. Now...maybe not.

            I asked Jerry, the owner of Swanson's Hardware, if he knew anything about the handyman.

            "Oh, you mean Sookie? Well, he's new in town, and he's a character, that's for sure." He spent the next five minutes regaling me about the guy and may have gone on longer except Gwen Pickle, the president of the Long Lake Chamber of Commerce came in and needed a pane of class cut for a busted garage door window. He went to help her leaving me with this final observation, "He seems harmless enough."

            Hmmm.

            I paid for my salt and left, thinking that, what the hell, why not take a chance on him? Jerry had told me that he was an old guy who lived by himself in Squire Wood, an ancient apartment building outside of town near the Lucy Line, a biking and hiking trail that stretched from Minneapolis, twenty miles to the east, all the way to Winsted, forty miles to the west. It was putting mildly to say that Squire Wood looked less like a rundown apartment building and more like a dilapidated, two-story crack house. It was a place most reasonable people steered clear of, myself included, but I guess the rent was cheap.

            My interest in Sookie got the better of me, though. My wife Rita and I worked long hours; she, as an administrator for a law firm in town, and me in information systems for a manufacturing company in Minneapolis. I commuted back and forth, and the drive sometimes took as much as an hour each way. Our kids were eight, ten, twelve and fourteen. They played sports, did band, debate, science club and the school newsletter after school, so we had weekly driving schedules and pickup times posted on a white board in the kitchen just to keep everything straight. In short, we had a busy life, and free time was at a premium if it even existed at all. Given all of that, I still felt compelled to try to plant a vegetable garden even after two years of failure. You know the old saying, "Third one's the charm." Maybe this Sookie character would bring me good luck.

            When I got home and told Rita about my plan she just laughed, "Go ahead Shawn, knock yourself out. Me? I'm not going to hold my breath." Then she pointed at the door, "Now, get going. The girls have soccer practice in..." she glanced at the white board, "five minutes ago, so go. Now."

            I went. I loaded ten year old Lisa and twelve year old Emma into the Prius and took off, thinking that maybe trying to grow vegetables again was going to be too much to ask.

            I dropped the kids at practice and hung around to watch, thinking about cancelling the whole gardening thing. Then I chastised myself. No way. Both Rita and I were type A personalities. I liked to push myself and was even now training for a local triathlon, so I took it as a challenge to prove to both myself and my wife that I really could plant and grow a successful garden.

            Let me explain: Rita and I had a good marriage, but it wasn't uncommon for her to question how handy I was around our home. I'll admit that I wasn't the best when it came to household maintenance, but I tried. For some reason, with this gardening project, I felt like I had something to prove to her. I decided that I was more than willing to give the grow your own idea one more chance. When I got back from soccer practice, I called Sookie.

            It didn't start off well. I could tell he picked up the phone, but he said nothing by way of a greeting. After nearly half a minute of silence during which I became increasingly uncomfortable, I said, "Hi. Hello there. Anybody home? I'm calling about the notice you posted in the hardware store. About you being a handyman? I could use some help with my garden. Do you do any gardening?"

            Still silence. Well, this is ridiculous, I was thinking to myself. I was about to hang up when a voice said, "Hello? Hello? Is there anybody there? I can't hear too well with these damn hearing aids."

            I don't why, but I laughed out loud, suddenly finding the whole situation amusing. I found out later that I was calling on his landline. He could see the light blinking  indicating he had a call, he just couldn't hear anything. It turned out he needed new batteries for both his hearing aids. Something I ended up buying for him later on.

            I yelled, "I'm calling about your ad in the hardware store."

            "What?"

            Man, this was going nowhere fast. I yelled even louder and he yelled at me and we yelled at each other for a couple of minutes before finally agreeing to met in the hardware store parking lot at noon the next day, Sunday, which we did.

            Let me tell you, that first meeting started off a little rocky, but once I purchased a couple of hearing aid batteries for him, things picked up considerably. I told him about my problems with my garden. He listened without saying a word, nodding occasionally. When I was finished I asked, "Would you care to have a look?"

            "Sure, young man," he grinned, "I've got nothing but time. Let's go have a look."

            He was short and wiry and wore bib overalls and a straw hat. He had a long, white, beard and moustache, bright blue eyes and surprisingly white straight, teeth. He looked kind of like I always imagined Rip Van Winkle would have looked like. Appearance notwithstanding, he was a nice man and very soft-spoken. But, like Jerry'd said at the hardware store, he was also a bit of a character. For instance, he didn't drive a car. "Don't care for them at all," he said that first meeting when I looked askance at his mode of transportation. He had ridden an old three speed bicycle to the hardware store. "They're bad for the environment." He looked at my Prius, my yuppie nod to being environmentally aware, and just smirked, being polite enough not to add anything by way of comment.

            I don't know, there was something about him that I liked. Maybe the fact that he and I were so different had something to do with it. I drove him to my house to see the garden. Rita and I lived on a three acre lot carved out of the forests and fields of western Hennepin county. We had it built to spec eighteen years ago. It's huge, one of those McMansions everyone is complaining about these days. Back then it wasn't a big deal. Now a days, well, let's just say we're a little embarrassed by our home's immense size and are trying to do our part by being as environmentally responsible as possible. Our lawn service only uses eco-friendly fertilizer and we recycle. That's all good, right?

            As we drove up to look at my poor excuse for a garden (with Sookies' bike in the back), my oldest, fourteen year old Jared, ran out, "Dad, can you take me to baseball practice? Mom's been trying to get a hold of you."

            I checked my phone. Opps. I had a message and about five texts. Damn. In the doghouse again. "Sure, I said, hop in."

            "I turned to Sookie, "You don't mind?"

            "Nope, not in the least," he smiled, watching as Jared got in the backseat."What's your name, young man?"

            Jared snapped his seat belt, introduced himself and he and Sookie shook hands. I was glad to see my son was being as polite as we'd raised him to be.

            I turned to him, "Where's practice?"

            "Up at school."

            "What position do you play?" Sookie asked. And from that point on they began talking about baseball, of which Sookie knew a surprising amount, which led talk of school, which led to a discussion about what Jared wanted to do with his life, which led to me finding out that my kind hearted son wanted to become a veterinarian. I'd had no idea.

            Sookie was like that. He looked odd, weird even, and lived by himself in a rundown apartment building, but he was interested in other people, intelligent, and, as I was about to find out, knew his way around a vegetable garden. After we dropped Jared off at his practice field we went back to my house. If he was impressed by my property with its nicely manicured lawn and strategically planted shrubs and trees like I thought he might be (most people were), I was to be proven wrong. What he cared about first and foremost was my garden.

            "Let's see what you've got here, young man," he said, as I led him around to the backyard. He didn't even glance at the kidney shaped swimming pool and big flagstone patio. Instead, he focused on the eyesore of my pathetic plot of dirt I called a garden and took over.

            One of the things he did during that first week, after he ordered and spread a couple of yards of manure and compost, was to get the kids involved. It didn't take much. Right off the bat they were interested in this strange looking man working in the backyard, and they took to wandering down to watch. My youngest, eight year old Becky, was the first one to start spending time with him, weeding and getting her hands dirty planting and helping out with whatever needed to be done. On Friday of the first week after Sookie had gone home for the day, she looked concerned, "Is Sookie ever coming back?" she asked, her little forehead furled in concern.

            "Do you like him?" I asked, begging the question and slightly distracted since I was getting ready to go for a bicycle training ride for the triathlon.

            "Yes. He's very nice," she said, pausing, and then adding, "And he's really funny," with the emphasis on really. It was pretty cute.

            By the next week, she had recruited her soccer playing sisters, Lisa and Emma, and brother Jared to help out. Soon thereafter school ended, summer break began, and we had the kids enrolled in day camp, golf, tennis and horseback riding lessons, soccer camp and other activities, wanting to keep them occupied during the day. Completely unexpected, though, what they liked most was coming home from their planned activities and helping Sookie in the garden. They not only planted rows of carrots, lettuce and bush beans, but they also helped him dig out a new bed for squash and pumpkins. They planted rhubarb, three different kinds of peppers and five different kinds of tomatoes. They even planted some potatoes. They also outlined the entire garden space in marigolds to, as Becky told me seriously, "Keep the critters away." As the garden grew in size, they weeded and watered and helped with the hoeing, often working into the evening until the sun started to go down. It was fun to see. In fact, it became a family affair, of sorts, for the kids. The only thing missing were the parents.

            In the beginning, I couldn't be bothered. Even though I'd hired Sookie, I didn't see him much because I was busy full-time with my job. Any free time I had was spent training for the Gear West Triathlon coming up later that fall. I only talked to him occasionally about the garden and whether or not he needed supplies and what to maybe plant next - that kind of thing. After the kids became so involved, though, I became curious as to what was drawing their attention, so I started going down after work to be with them and see what they were doing. Often Sookie had gone home by then, but the kids would always be excited to see me, pointing out what they had planted and how the vegetables were coming along.

            Once little Becky took me by the hand and said, "Look it, Daddy. Look at the all pretty tomatoes. Don't they look delectable."

            Obviously it was a word she'd learned from Sookie and it was incredibly sweet, not only her expanding vocabulary, but also her attitude and enthusiasm. I enjoyed seeing my kids not only having fun, but learning something useful: the art of gardening and how to grow things. I started working out less after work and coming down more often to the garden to be with my children. I even started to do some weeding and hoeing myself, getting my hands in the soil and my knees dirty. It was hard work, but it dawned on me after a few weeks how much fun it was, especially being around my children in that sort of unstructured time and seeing them so relaxed and happy. My enthusiasm for the triathlon waned until by summer's end I'd quit training for it altogether.

            In early August, Rita pulled me aside and said, "Say, Shawn, did you know Sookie used to teach Physics at the University of Minnesota?"

            Ah, no. I'd never talked to him about his past at all, but Rita had always been a straight shooter. She told me that one day she'd just up and asked about his background and he obligingly told her.

            "Yeah, I guess he's even written a few books. Science related stuff."

            "I had no idea."

            "Yeah, he's pretty amazing."

            By then Sookie had been working for us for nearly three months. Who'd have thought it? Certainly not me.

            It had taken her a while to gain his trust, though. At first it was a direct order for me to, "Just make sure you watch him around the kids, Shawn. And for god's sake, make sure he doesn't do anything weird."

            Later, though, after she'd gotten to know him a little better she told me, "You know, I don't believe I've ever met anyone like him." And that was true, neither of us had.

            My wife and I were both born of privilege and didn't have to want for anything. We were brought up in affluence and if we liked our little world out west of Minneapolis, away from the congestion and noise of the inner city, well that was just what we were used to.

            Sookie was different by a long shot, and the more we found out about him, the more interesting he became. He had been brought up on a soybean farm in Aitkin county in north central Minnesota. He had served as a medic in Vietnam. His wife died giving birth to their third child, and, although he'd raised his kids by himself, all three had moved west once they'd grown and he didn't see them very often. He was working on new book about sustainable living. And he valued his privacy so much that he had yet to make an offer for us to come and visit him in his apartment.

            He worked in the garden almost every day, riding over on his bicycle and doing whatever chores needed to be done. A few weeks after he started with us he took stock of our yard and suggested that, along with maintaining the garden, he could also keep the grass cut and the shrubs and trees trimmed. I took a chance and let the lawn service go and never regretted it. Sookie found an old Toro horizontal blade mower, the kind you might see on a golf course, on Craig's List for me to buy. He fixed it up and had it running like a clock in no time. The lawn never looked better.

            But it was more than the cosmetic appearance of our yard that he impacted. Over the summer Sookie became an integral part of our family. We got in the habit of inviting him for dinner on Sunday night, the only day of the week it seemed we had everyone home at the same time. We all enjoyed having him around; the kids because not only did he make them laugh, but because they learned so much from him. Rita and I...? Well, I guess it was the same for us, too.

            For me, though, it became more than gardening and lawn mowing, it was him as a person. "Shawn," he told me early on, "You know, you've got a good thing going here. A nice home, a great family, a good job. But let me ask you this, are you happy?"

            I remember laughing at him, "Sure, I'm happy. You just said it yourself; nice home, great family, good job. Who wouldn't be?"

            "Yes, but are you?" His gaze intensified as he bored into me with piercing eyes. I swear sometimes he seemed to see into the depths of my soul. It was disconcerting, but I stayed true to my statement. "Of course I am. Who wouldn't be?" I told him, somewhat petulantly. But as I turned abruptly and walked back to the house, I had to admit that he made me wonder, "Am I really?"

            Something Sookie said to me that first time I met with him in the hardware store parking lot stuck with me; his statement of, "Young man, I've got nothing but time."

            I thought about it a lot that summer and along about Labor Day I began to get an inkling of what he was getting at. He meant that it's up to you to make the most of your life. You need to concentrate on what's really important before it's too late and you run out of time to do what really matters to you.

            With that in mind, by the end of the summer I had begun to cut back on my hours at work, and Rita had done the same at her job. And, more to the point, we both had started to make sure to spend more time with our kids. Our lives began to refocus, not so much around working and making money, although that's certainly part of what we did, but with prioritizing what was important to the both of us; number one being Rita and I and our relationship with each other, and, two, just as important, both of us spending more quality time with our kids. For both of us it felt like the right thing to do.

            Rita's birthday was the day before Halloween, and we usually celebrated the two together. This year was no different. We planned a big party with a bunch of our friends, costumes, scary decorations that the kids were in charge of - the whole bit. The evening before the event Sookie unexpectedly showed up with a surprise.

            "Here," he said, handing Rita a gift wrapped box, "This is a little something for you."

            I think Rita blushed for the first time in years. "Why thank you, Sookie. That's very thoughtful."

            The kids gathered around, excited up to see what he'd come up with. As she unwrapped the paper and opened the box, he said, "I baked it for you for your birthday. It's from your garden." She lifted out a beautiful pie. "It's rhubarb and strawberry," he grinned and turned to the four kids, "You guys should be proud, you grew the rhubarb." His grin turned to a big smile and he enveloped them all in a massive hug. Then Rita joined them.

            What an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture! It was right then that I realized Sookie being part of our family was as important to him as he was to us. I think I had a tear in my eye as I hugged him and said, "Thanks for everything."

            "My pleasure," he said, his voice cracking. It was a pretty emotional moment for us all.

During the winter we didn't hear from him. At the end of the growing season he'd told us he was renting a car and going on an extended diving trip out west to visit his three kids and their families, and he didn't know when he'd be back. Rita and I both organized our work schedules so at least one of us could be with our children after they got home from school. We even seriously started talking about selling our house, downsizing, and moving to the nearby small town of Long Lake where they had some nice bungalows with yards that weren't huge, but were big enough for a good sized garden. Our kids all have assured us they wouldn't mind the move at all. Our family has gotten closer, that's for sure.

            On a snowy Saturday evening in the middle of January, Jared and I built a fire in the fireplace, Rita and Becky made some popcorn and Lisa and Emma set up our favorite board game, Monopoly, on a card table in the family room. As we played, talk turned to the garden. Becky asked, "Is Sookie coming back to work with us next year? I really want to see him again."

            It was almost as if he heard us talking about him, because at that exact moment my phone rang. I took the call in the next room and, what a pleasant surprise, it was Sookie. He was calling to let us know he was back in town. We talked for a long time, mostly about the upcoming year and what we might possibly be growing in the garden. He didn't even ask if we wanted him back, just implied that he would be, almost like he was part of the family, which, in a way, he was.

            After we hung up, I went back to the family room with its mostly eaten bowl of popcorn, cheerful fireplace fire and friendly board game and said, "Good news! Sookie's back in town, and he's looking forward to coming back to work in the garden this year." Everyone, my wife included, cheered.

            I can't really say how this story is going to end. Right now it seems we've adopted this kind and gentle man who is so much more than just a gardener. Who knows what this year will bring? Rita and I are going to try to be the best parents we can be. We might downsize and move. We want to spend as much time with our kids as we can because we know eventually they will outgrow being around us and move on with their lives. I know it sounds like a lot, but it's something to shoot for.

            And that thing about time? It's all about how you use it. I can't recall my family ever being happier, even more so when we think about this upcoming spring and the beginning of planting season, because we all agree, working in the garden with Sookie, well, that's something we'll all make time for.

           

           

Bicycle Built For Two

A tandem bike. It was the last thing Liz and I bought together before she left me for her personal trainer, bleach blond, muscle bound, Donnie. Damn. We rode together once, maybe twice, and then, poof, just like that, a quick wave goodbye and off she peddled into the sunset, gone for good. We'd been together six and a half years. She took the bike, too.

             Well, that was it for me. Lesson learned. No more taking a chance on relationships for this guy. Heartbroken? Absolutely. Moving on? You bet. It's been nearly five months and I've got a new bike now and a new gal. Her name is Libby and she rides in a basket in front attached to my handlebars. She's my sweet little, cinnamon and black, long hair Chihuahua, and she's adorable. The way her hair blows in the breeze, her bright amber eyes, her cute little pink tongue and her jeweled collar...Well, really, when you get right down to it, what's not to love?

            Now, I will say this, most people think it's sad that its come to this , my attachment to Libby, but to them I say, "Too bad." I'm loyal to her and she is to me and that's what's important. The way I look at it, Libby would never hurt me. She's filled the void left by Liz and my future has never looked brighter. I can see us peddling down the road of life together for years to come. Who needs a girlfriend when I've got my sweet little Chihuahua? In fact, who needs people anyway? I can see it now, Libby and I, lifelong companions, together until death do us part. Sounds good to me.

            We get closer every day. I'm even starting to snack occasionally on the kibble I get for her. We're perfect for each other in each and every way. And you know what? I hardly ever get lonely.

             

Flying

Dad thought it'd be a good idea to bring us along.

            "You boys will like it. Mr. and Mrs. Bailey have three girls about the same age as you."

            Jeff and I looked at each other, silently agreeing between us that it would be fun, but, of course, we couldn't let our parents know that.

            I complained, "Aw, no way. I don't want to go. Jeff and I were going to go to the creek and hunt carp with our bow and arrows."

            Dad's eyes turned steely under thick black eyebrows. He gave us each a look only he was capable of, "I don't care. You're both coming with your mom and me. No arguments." Then he turned to our little brother, Brian, pointed a long index finger at him and said, "You, too."

            So we went.

            Mr. and Mrs. Bailey lived ten miles south of us on a bluff overlooking the Minnesota River. For our parents, the view was spectacular. For me and Jeff, well, all we carried about were the girls. Especially me. I was thirteen that summer with wild hormones running out of control. A lot of times I had no idea what was going on with me, often wondering, "Who's this guy that's taken over my body? What has he done with the mild mannered kid I used to be? Why did he make me do some of the things I did and fill my brain all those crazy thoughts?" I had no clue, but I was doing my best to hang on for the crazy ride. Jeff, two years younger, was not only my brother, but also a pretty good friend. We did a lot of stuff together, so if I wanted to check out the Bailey's daughters he'd be right on board. Younger brother Brian? Well, at seven years old, he was hardly a passing thought. Really, who cared about him, anyway?

            After a half hour on the road, Dad pulled into the driveway of the Bailey's sprawling rambler. I'd never in my life seen a house so big and long and, well, rambling. It went on forever. Mr. Bailey, like Dad, was an airline pilot. But he must have been better at his job than Dad or something because it was obvious the guy was wealthy. He had three cars parked in the huge garage, one of them a shining dark green Jaguar. The huge front yard was shady, lush and green, almost like a jungle, and landscaped with shrubs and trees and gardens outlined with big, smooth, rounded stones. There was even a fountain in the middle of a pool in a rock garden with a beguiling naked lady shooting a ten foot stream of water out of her mouth. It was liking being in another world.

            Mr. Bailey came out to greet us as we were getting out of our old Chevrolet station wagon. "Hey there, Fred," he grinned, shaking hands with my dad. "Mary, nice to see you." He gave my mom a brief hug and peck on the cheek. Then he turned to us, "And you must be Fred's boys," he exclaimed, pasting that fake smile on his face every parent is so good at. "How are you doing, young fellas?"

            We had been raised to be polite, so we all dutifully smiled and shook his proffered hand. He then turned and yelled at the top of his voice, "Girls! Get out here! The boys have arrived!!"

            Jesus, could this be anymore embarrassing? I could feel my face turning beet red. I was at an age where parents drawing attention to me was the last thing I wanted. Just shut up, Mr. Bailey, please, just shut up.

            Right then the girls appeared, strutting out through a door at the back of the garage like they were on a fashion runway. Three of them. Each pretty close to the age of me and Jeff and Brian. That's where any resemblance of similarity ended and ended fast. We were obviously in a different league out here on the Minnesota River than back home in Minneapolis. It was summer time. I was dressed in pressed Bermuda shorts, and a white JCrew short sleeve shirt. On my feet were topsiders with no socks. It was a very preppy look, one encouraged by my dad and one I went along with just to keep peace in the family. Also, and this is more to the point, it was the type of clothes my friends wore, with only the slightest room for any variation (pattern on the Bermudas and color of shirt being the only two worth mentioning.)

            Mr. Bailey said, "Boys, these are my daughters, Sara, Kate and Jackie. Girls, say hello to Mr. Jacobson's boys."

            Oh, my god. I'd never expected anything like his three girls, especially the oldest, Sara. She was probably close to my thirteen years, except that she looked like she was twenty. She wore a dark purple halter top falling off of one shoulder and the shortest, tightest, cutoff blue jeans I'd ever seen. Her auburn hair was tinged with red highlights and it fell in long ringlets over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were big and brown and covered in dark makeup, her lips painted deep lavender. Around her neck she wore a choker necklace on a chain with a peace symbol on it. A musky scent emanated from her that was strangely attractive. (I found out a few years later it was patchouli oil.) She had a henna hummingbird tattooed on one shoulder and a red heart with an arrow through it on the other. I was speechless.

            She confidently walked right up to me and said, "So, like, hi. What was your name again?"

            My mouth was so dry, I could barely get my name out. "John," I squeaked because, I swear to god, my voice broke right then and there. I felt my face turn a deeper shade of red, if that were possible, maybe crimson.

            She stood not more than two feet away and she gave me a long, slow, once over. I'm sure I quit breathing while she scrutinized me. After what seemed like forever but was probably only three seconds, she smirked, took a step back, smacked the gum she was chewing, turned to her father and said, "I can't stay. Randy's picking me up in a few minutes." Then she turned and sauntered back through the garage, her two sisters trailing behind.

            Well, I never.

            I was mesmerized. I couldn't help it, my eyes were glued to her, my heart was running away with me. Perspiration beaded up on my forehead. I think I fell in love for the first time in my life right then and there. Too bad for me. The feeling was definitely not reciprocated. I never saw her again. But maybe seeing Sara and knowing that I was out of my league out there on the Minnesota River at the home of my Dad's rich friend, lead me to do what I did later that day. I don't know. But what I did was sure out of character for me, that was for sure.

            After Sara left with Randy, her sisters took off down the road to play with some of their girl friends. We weren't invited. That left me and Jeff and Brian to our own devices. The parents were inside have drinks. "You boys go outside and play," Mr. Bailey said. "Just watch out for the backyard," he laughed, "It's very steep, and it's a real bitch."

            "Okay, thanks for the warning." I waved at the Baileys and Mom and Dad and led Jeff and Brian out the front door and immediately around to the backyard. Why not? 'It's steep and it's a bitch,' rang in my ear. Sounded like fun to me.

            The Bailey's home had been built at the top of a high ridge that ran a couple of hundred feet above the Minnesota River Valley. It offered spectacular views: the river, forests, swamps, backwaters, the whole nine yards. The back slope was in the process of being landscaped and terraced from the top of the ridge all the way down to the valley floor. The first terrace was in place. The second yet to be completed. We goofed around on the first terrace for about a minute. It was boring. Then we slid down to the top of the second terrace and peered over the edge. It was cut away like a cliff and there was a sloping drop-off of one hundred feet to the bottom, all of it made up of sand and debris from the work done on the house and the rest of the backyard.

            "Cool," Jeff said in awe, standing at the edge.

            "No kidding," I replied, looking out into the tops of the trees in the dense woods below. I picked up a fist sized stone, "Let's throw some rocks."

            So were pitched rocks over the edge, the bigger the better, and watched them roll all the way to the bottom. It was fun, a nice diversion, and helped me to pretty much forget about the dark and dusky Sara.

            After fifteen minutes Jeff and I had worked up a sweat, so we took a break in our rock throwing game and sat down to catch to our breath. Brian wasn't tired. He picked up some small pebbles and began to carefully toss them over. I watched him; my skinny little brother, seven years old, so sweet and innocent. Almost loveable. Then I had an idea.

            "Hey, Brian," I said, "I've got a really good idea. We're up so high. How about if Jeff and I throw you over the edge of the cliff? It'd be fun, almost like flying."

            I couldn't believe that those words had actually come out of my mouth. I knew it'd be dangerous, tossing him off a cliff. What was I thinking? I was the oldest and supposed to be in charge for Pete's sake. I was about to laugh it off and make a joke of it, when Brian said, without hesitation, "Sure. If you think It'll be okay."

            The trust of a younger brother. What an amazing thing, is what I thought to myself. To him I said, "Sure. No sweat. You'll be fine." I had no idea what I was talking about.

            Jeff and I stood up and made ourselves ready. I had Brian lay down on his back next to the edge of the cliff. I grabbed his hands, Jeff grabbed his feet. We lifted him up and swung him back and forth a few times to get the feel of him. He was very light. It was like swinging a teddy bear. We began to swing him over the edge, out into space. I counted off, "One. Two."

            In the middle of the third swing, Brian said, "You sure I'll be okay?"

            I said, "Absolutely. No problem." And at the end of that swing I said to Jeff, "Let him go."

            And we did.

            My god, to this day, I'll never forget how he flew out of our hands, Brian's small body framed against the blue sky, hanging suspended in space. For a poetic instant anyway. Then he dropped like a bag of wet cement and fell out of sight. Amazingly, he never screamed, flying through the air like he did. I certainly would have. He did, however, land with a soft thud thirty feet below us. Jeff and I both peered over the edge. The sloop was gentle enough, and the sand soft enough that the landing wasn't too hard. Fortunately, he wasn't injured. He did, however, roll all the way to the bottom of the ravine, a hundred feet below.

            I was aghast at what I'd done. My little brother had trusted me and here I went ahead and threw him off a cliff. What an idiotic thing to do. He could have been killed. I jumped off the edge and scurried down the sandy incline as fast as I could, Jeff following behind. I needed to make sure Brain was all right. Fortunately, he was. In fact, he even laughed a little as we cleaned the sand off of him. But he did make it a point of telling me he didn't want to do it again. Well, no kidding.

            Did me tossing my little brother off that cliff have anything to do with my conflicted feelings about Sara? I don't know. Maybe. I was definitely caught in the world between being a kid and being an adult, with the obvious conclusion that I really didn't fit into each. At least not on that particular day.

            After we dusted Brian off, we three brothers climbed back to the top of the terrace and threw some more rocks over the edge. As we did, I felt that something had changed between Brian and me. The fact that he had trusted me...I don't know. It was touching, really. The fact that I betrayed that trust, well, that was something that made me feel like a jerk. I vowed to try to be a better brother to him. In the years to come, I wasn't always successful, but at least I tried. One thing was for sure, though, on that day I began to feel a little closer to him. He didn't seem like an annoying little kid anymore. We even threw a couple of big rocks together that required both of us to lift them. It was fun.

            We stayed on the back terrace until Dad yelled at us to get ready to go home. We climbed back up to the sprawling house, got in the car and left. We never saw Mr. Bailey's daughters again. That was probably a good thing.

            Jeff and I and Brian stayed close the rest of our lives, we even still laugh about what we'd done to Brian out there on the cliff.

             And Brian, to his credit, has never held a grudge against me and Jeff. At least that's what he says. I admire him for that because if the roles were reversed, I certainly would have. In fact, he's always quick to point out, when we tell the story, that he was only a little scared. Mostly, though, he remembers that it really did feel like flying, falling through space like he did on that summer day so many years ago. He also tells me he was glad that it happened. I don't know if I really believe him or not, but, if it's true, maybe it's one reason way he became a pilot later in life and flew airplanes for a living, just like our Dad had done. Oh, his whole life he's also only lived in houses that have a flat backyard. No terraces for him. Not ever again. I don't blame him at all.

           

Flowers

Flowers. Your daughter loves them, Laura said, setting our one-year old down in the grass next to the patio. Arial immediately grabbed a dandelion and jammed it in her mouth happily gumming it to death. Laughing, my wife, gently pulled the slimy thing out, saying she also liked petunias, as our little girl grabbed for one from a nearby planter. I reached for her and missed as she swallowed it whole.

            Then suddenly she was everywhere, crawling here and there, stuffing flowers in her mouth non-stop, a whirling dervish of floral mastication. It was impossible to try to control her. Frustrated, I was about ready to put a halt to the whole thing and take her inside when suddenly she stopped and looked at me, her eyes twinkling in the sunlight. She smiled a flowery smile as she reached out her little hand and offered me a recently plucked yellow daisy. Then she called me Daddy. My heart melted as I took it from her, while, giggling, she put one in her mouth. I didn't have to think. I popped mine in and ate it. It tasted like a burst of pure joy.