four teacher as she
read a chapter from Watership Down . He did his math and he paid
attention during history lessons. At noon hour, he volunteered to be goalie
during a soccer game put together by his friends, and he thought he might
actually get the through the rest of the day without shedding a single tear.
When the game was at the far end of the field,
Hugh had a few minutes to himself. It had been the first significant amount of
time he’d been alone all day. That’s when he’d broken down. He’d never cried
harder in his life. His eyes gushed and his nose ran with warm snot. When the
soccer ball slammed into his face he wasn’t even sure what it was, nor had he
cared. He’d just bawled harder. Some of the kids laughed, but when he finally
told them the whole story, they’d all crowded around him to offer support and
condolences.
Even Scott Harder, the one that kicked the
ball in his face, had patted him on the back. “Sorry about that pal, it’s hard
losing a pet.”
“No kidding,” he’d said.
That wouldn’t happen for another ten months,
Hugh thought, as he stroked Colonel’s floppy ear. The dog licked his palm and
ran back to fir tree, barking all the way. Hugh stood up, put his hands in his
pockets, and watched the dog for a while longer. “It doesn’t have to happen to
you this time,” he said quietly. “Not to you, not to Billy Parton…not to Ben.”
He looked around and saw the farm as it had
been, how it was again. The house, the work shed, the three-stall horse barn to
the north and the two old grain bins next to them. None of these buildings had
made into the next century. There were more trees on the 1974 Nance homestead as
well. More spruce and poplar, every inch between seemingly filled with flowering
caragana and lilac bush.
He heard his mother call from the house. “Get
back in here and clean your room! No supper until you do!”
He headed for the back porch and remembered
something the voice in the brown had said.
You can try again.
Colonel, Billy, Ben…and even Mr. McDonald.
I’ll do a lot more than try.
Chapter 7
Supper was wonderful, just as he knew it
would be. Nothing beat his mom’s overdone meatloaf and under-steamed garden
fresh vegetables. Hugh washed it down with two glasses of milk and watched his
family. Donald no longer lived at home, but he showed up for meals anyway, just
like Colonel. He spouted off about the inferior class of people that lived in
Braedon and the surrounding municipalities. To Donald, if you weren’t of
English-Scottish descent, you were automatically in a lower class. Hugh never
understood where his oldest brother had picked up the racism. Their parents
were the most tolerant people he’d ever known. Heather argued with Donald while
their mom served lemon meringue pie. Gordo flicked chunks of macaroni off his
spoon into Hugh’s face from across the table.
Just another family meal at the Nance
house.
Hugh loved it. “Hey mom, are you going to
make coffee?” It seemed like a reasonable request.
“Yeah, and I’ll have a shot of vodka,”
Gordo added.
Mom rolled her eyes. Donald laughed and
pushed away from the table. It was a good time for him to leave. He was losing
his argument with Heather. “What’s a little fart like you need coffee for?”
Donald was unusually fat for a Nance, two-hundred-fifty pounds, six-foot-tall
kind of fat. He referred to it as ‘burly big’. His younger brothers called him
Humpty-Dumpty-Donald behind his back, wide and round in the middle, bald on top
with a bit of red hair still clinging to the back and sides. He looked
forty-five instead of twenty-five, a sweaty, pink-faced heart attack waiting to
happen.
He looks exactly the same in the future.
What’s his secret?
Hugh shrugged his shoulders and grinned
sheepishly. “It was worth a try.” He’d slipped again, but it hadn’t been too
bad.
The other kids cleared out after Donald, Heather
helped her mother clean up, and Gordo bolted for
read a chapter from Watership Down . He did his math and he paid
attention during history lessons. At noon hour, he volunteered to be goalie
during a soccer game put together by his friends, and he thought he might
actually get the through the rest of the day without shedding a single tear.
When the game was at the far end of the field,
Hugh had a few minutes to himself. It had been the first significant amount of
time he’d been alone all day. That’s when he’d broken down. He’d never cried
harder in his life. His eyes gushed and his nose ran with warm snot. When the
soccer ball slammed into his face he wasn’t even sure what it was, nor had he
cared. He’d just bawled harder. Some of the kids laughed, but when he finally
told them the whole story, they’d all crowded around him to offer support and
condolences.
Even Scott Harder, the one that kicked the
ball in his face, had patted him on the back. “Sorry about that pal, it’s hard
losing a pet.”
“No kidding,” he’d said.
That wouldn’t happen for another ten months,
Hugh thought, as he stroked Colonel’s floppy ear. The dog licked his palm and
ran back to fir tree, barking all the way. Hugh stood up, put his hands in his
pockets, and watched the dog for a while longer. “It doesn’t have to happen to
you this time,” he said quietly. “Not to you, not to Billy Parton…not to Ben.”
He looked around and saw the farm as it had
been, how it was again. The house, the work shed, the three-stall horse barn to
the north and the two old grain bins next to them. None of these buildings had
made into the next century. There were more trees on the 1974 Nance homestead as
well. More spruce and poplar, every inch between seemingly filled with flowering
caragana and lilac bush.
He heard his mother call from the house. “Get
back in here and clean your room! No supper until you do!”
He headed for the back porch and remembered
something the voice in the brown had said.
You can try again.
Colonel, Billy, Ben…and even Mr. McDonald.
I’ll do a lot more than try.
Chapter 7
Supper was wonderful, just as he knew it
would be. Nothing beat his mom’s overdone meatloaf and under-steamed garden
fresh vegetables. Hugh washed it down with two glasses of milk and watched his
family. Donald no longer lived at home, but he showed up for meals anyway, just
like Colonel. He spouted off about the inferior class of people that lived in
Braedon and the surrounding municipalities. To Donald, if you weren’t of
English-Scottish descent, you were automatically in a lower class. Hugh never
understood where his oldest brother had picked up the racism. Their parents
were the most tolerant people he’d ever known. Heather argued with Donald while
their mom served lemon meringue pie. Gordo flicked chunks of macaroni off his
spoon into Hugh’s face from across the table.
Just another family meal at the Nance
house.
Hugh loved it. “Hey mom, are you going to
make coffee?” It seemed like a reasonable request.
“Yeah, and I’ll have a shot of vodka,”
Gordo added.
Mom rolled her eyes. Donald laughed and
pushed away from the table. It was a good time for him to leave. He was losing
his argument with Heather. “What’s a little fart like you need coffee for?”
Donald was unusually fat for a Nance, two-hundred-fifty pounds, six-foot-tall
kind of fat. He referred to it as ‘burly big’. His younger brothers called him
Humpty-Dumpty-Donald behind his back, wide and round in the middle, bald on top
with a bit of red hair still clinging to the back and sides. He looked
forty-five instead of twenty-five, a sweaty, pink-faced heart attack waiting to
happen.
He looks exactly the same in the future.
What’s his secret?
Hugh shrugged his shoulders and grinned
sheepishly. “It was worth a try.” He’d slipped again, but it hadn’t been too
bad.
The other kids cleared out after Donald, Heather
helped her mother clean up, and Gordo bolted for
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