An Invitation to Friendship	  An Invitation to Friendship by Mary

  

 Disclaimer: Inspired by a story by Paul Haggis inspired by a story by
someone else.... Isn't that always the story? 

 Drama/Humor; Rated PG 

 AN INVITATION TO FRIENDSHIP 

 By Mary 

 By the time I was eleven years old, I began to weary of daily piano
practice. This was brought on largely by my discovery that most of the
village boys my age spent their after-school hours in a pursuit known as
the game of ice hockey. I had come upon this discovery one afternoon as my
grandmother and I walked home from a neighbor's house where Grandma had
assisted in the delivery of a baby. After much pleading on my part, my
grandmother finally acquiesced and allowed me to stay behind at the pond
to watch the boys play, provided I promised to be home well before
dinnertime. 

 I didn't quite live up to that promise. My grandparents appeared to be
just sitting down to eat when I rushed into the house, hastily removed my
boots and overclothes, and took my seat at the kitchen table, hoping my
tardiness wouldn't be noticed. 

 "Wash your hands before you come to the dinner table, please," my
grandmother reminded me. 

 I hopped off my chair without a word and washed up at the sink then
rejoined my grandparents who were waiting for me before starting to eat. 

 "I expected you home before dinner, honey," Grandma said, as our meal
waited patiently to be served. 

 "You didn't eat yet, did you?" I asked timidly. 

 "No, we haven't. We've been waiting for you. We take our meals together
as a family in this house." 

 It seemed clear that I was expected to respond, although I wasn't quite
sure what to say as no question had been posed. I glanced across the table
at my grandfather, hoping for his help, but received none. "Okay," I
mumbled to my grandmother as a way of apologizing without admitting I had
erred. 

 "Where have you been?" 

 "Watching the hockey game. You said I could." 

 "I allowed you to watch the game on the condition that you were home in
time for supper. If you can't be trusted to observe your boundaries, then
I will have to deny you such freedoms." 

 A frown overtook my face. Watching that hockey game had been the most fun
I'd had in a long time. It had broken the routine and, as I shouted
occasional cheers from the sidelines, I had been able to fantasize that I
was one of the guys. They were all about my age and I knew most of them by
sight, but hadn't had the opportunity to get to know them very well
personally. 

 Grandma set a plate of food before me and drummed her index finger
against the table a few times to get my attention. "Sit up to the table
and eat your dinner, honey. And please wipe the pout from your face. It's
very unbecoming." 

 "Are you not gonna let me watch the guys any more?" I asked, seemingly
oblivious to her instructions. 

 "We'll see. Maybe some day." 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 She didn't say anything at first, as she served Grandpa and then began to
fill her own plate. She looked at me as she settled her napkin on her lap.
"I've kept your dinner warm for you, honey, now I'd like you to eat it
before it gets cold." 

 "But can I watch the hockey game tomorrow?" 

 "Grammar..." she prompted me. 

 "May I watch the game tomorrow?" 

 "I'll have to think about it." 

 "Please, Grandma?" 

 "I'll let you know, Ben. Now, eat!" 

 "Aw, heck. You always mean 'no' when you say that." 

 "That will do, young man," Grandma advised with raised eyebrows. "You
won't get your way by sassing me." 

 "I wasn't sassing you. I was just saying--" I retorted, only to be nudged
under the table by Grandpa's knee. When I received his stare, I knew
exactly what was expected of me. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to sass
you." 

 "All right, honey." She smiled and then leaned toward me and said, "After
dinner you may tell me all about the hockey game, okay?" 

 That was all I needed to hear. I started to eat with such relish that
Grandma had to remind me a few times to chew before swallowing. 

 

 I was given permission to watch the following day's hockey game. It
wasn't difficult for me to convince my grandmother that an hour or two
spent with my peers was just as important as study or piano practice. The
tricky part was getting her to agree to give me another chance to prove my
trustworthiness so soon after disregarding a rule. But I believe that,
despite my grandmother's usual strict resolve when it came to discipline,
she just didn't have the heart to deny me something that had made me feel
so alive. She did, however, make it unquestionably clear that any
violation of the parameters she set for me would be dealt with swiftly and
surely. 

 There was no way I was going to miss my curfew the next day, as I knew if
I did, I'd never again be given leave to watch the boys play hockey, let
alone get the opportunity to play with them, which was my secret desire.
In no time, I was going to the game on an almost daily basis and piano
practice was trimmed to a twice-weekly session, right after dinner. After
a while, I started to carry my skates with me on these excursions, just on
the off-chance that I might be invited to play. My prayer was finally
answered, but the timing couldn't have been worse. 

 

 "Hey, kid!" one of the boys yelled my way as I paused momentarily beside
the pond, my skates slung over my shoulder. 

 I looked around to be sure there wasn't another kid in the vicinity to
whom the boy may have been speaking. There wasn't. "Me?" I asked. 

 "Yeah, you. Whatcha doing?" 

 "Nothing." 

 The boy came near and I recognized him as the new boy who had just moved
into the house by the pond a few months earlier. I also recognized him as
the best hockey player among the boys at the pond. "You're always just
standing over here with your skates. Do you wanna play or don't you?" he
asked. 

 "Play? You mean with you guys?" 

 "Well, duh, yeah, with us guys. Why, aren't we good enough for you?" 

 "No, I mean, yeah, yeah, you're real good." 

 "Well, I'm pretty good, if I do say so myself. But, between us -- hey,
what's your name, anyway, kid?" 

 "Ben." 

 "My name's Mark." 

 "Nice to meet you, Mark." 

 "Yeah, sure, man. Like I was saying, between you and me, Ben, some of the
guys don't really put much effort into it. It's just a game to them." 

 "It's not a game to you?" 

 "Heck, no. This is hockey, man." 

 "Uh huh." 

 "You ever see a real game, a professional game?" 

 "No." 

 "Oh, man, you should. That's gonna be me some day, you know." 

 "Is it?" 

 "You watch, I'll be the best in the pros. The name of Mark Smithbauer
will go down in sports history." 

 "Wow, you must be good, then." 

 "So, you wanna play?" 

 "I dunno." Yes, that was the invitation for which I had been hoping and
praying for weeks, but suddenly the prospect of playing hockey -- a game
with which I had no experience -- with a future star seemed a bit beyond
me. 

 "Look, kid, you wouldn't keep comin' here with your skates if you didn't
wanna play, eh?" 

 I glanced at the group of boys who were all standing around, leaning on
their sticks, observing us with interest. "I don't have a stick." 

 "I got extras. And you can use my old helmet. It should fit you. Come on.
That's my house over there," he said, pointing. "We'll get you suited up."


 I started to follow him, a little unsure about what I was getting myself
in for, when I suddenly remembered that I had an errand to run for my
grandfather. "Oh, wait. I can't play. Not now." 

 "Why not?" 

 "I'm on my way to the post office. I have to mail something right away." 

 "So, you can do it after the game. What's the difference whether it gets
posted now or in an hour, eh?" 

 "No, my grandpa said I have to do it now. It's very important." 

 "Look, we're playing hockey now. If you wanna play, you gotta do it now.
The game'd be over by the time you went all the way to town and back. And
that letter of yours won't be going anywhere before the end of the week
whether you take it to the post office now or later. Logic says you play
hockey first, then mail the letter." 

 "But my grandfather said --" 

 "Your grandfather would see the logic. Besides, he won't ever know the
difference. So, you coming or not?" 

 

 So, there I was two months later, half-heartedly plucking away at the
piano during my mid-week session, wishing instead that I could be outside,
practicing my slapshot or my passing. Occasionally I would be brought out
of my reverie by a shout from the study where my grandparents were
occupied with business matters. "Concentrate, Benton," my grandmother
would call out. Or something like, "You will not be dismissed until you
apply yourself, young man!" 

 Suddenly, I heard shouts which were not directed to me. They were coming
from my grandfather, who was obviously very upset about something. I
almost never witnessed either of my grandparents raising their voices in
anger, so, out of curiosity, I crept over to the study doorway and peeked
in. 

 "This makes no sense," my grandfather stated emphatically. "I sent that
payment in months ago. Even if the post was a little slow, they should
have received it by now." 

 "Perhaps if you explained to them --" my grandmother started to say. 

 "I did that last month. I must've spoken to everyone in that bank and
they still charged me the late fee and now they've added another, along
with all these finance charges we shouldn't be paying. We can't afford
this, Martha. We always pay our bills. We can't be paying some bank to
loan us money that we've already paid back. I won't do it, damn it!" he
stated as he pounded his fist against the desktop. 

 Suddenly a surge of fear ran through me as my actions on that long-gone
day threatened to take their revenge -- a possibility which had been
haunting me for two months. I hadn't mailed the payment as I'd been
instructed. I'd meant to, but by the time we finished our hockey game, I'd
had to hurry home for dinner and completely forgot about the errand. And
when, as I walked home, I finally did recall the task that had been
charged to me, the envelope was nowhere to be found. 

 So I again faced the same quandary that had already tormented me once. I
didn't know what to do. If I told Grandpa that I had failed to mail his
payment and had lost it, he was sure to be very angry with me. But if I
didn't tell him, it was as good as lying to him, and I was a terrible
liar. I had somehow managed to lie to my grandfather on the day of my sin,
but keeping this information from him for the past two months had been
eating away at my conscience. I knew I had to do something to correct the
situation. 

 I stepped into the study and cleared my throat to announce myself.
Grandpa had a scowl on his face as he looked at me. He was obviously
uncomfortable wondering how much I had overheard. "Your grandmother and I
are discussing private matters, son," he said. "If we'd wanted you to hear
our discussion, we would've invited you in." 

 "I thought something was wrong, Grandpa. I heard you, um, yelling when I
was playing the piano." 

 "Yes, well, it's nothing you have to worry about, so you go on back to
your practicing, eh?" 

 I held my ground, looking back and forth between my grandparents, trying
to work up the courage to make my confession. 

 "Is there something you need?" my grandfather asked, calming down a bit. 

 I shook my head and pulled at my fingers nervously. 

 "Listen, son," Grandpa said, leading me to the door with his hand on my
shoulder, "I lost my temper and said some things I shouldn't have said.
I'm sorry." 

 "That's okay." I stood in the doorway, failing to take my leave when my
grandfather pointed the way. 

 "Would you please leave us so we can finish our business?" he asked
patiently. 

 "Um, but...I wanted to, um..." I hung my head to hide my trembling lip. 

 "You wanted to what?" 

 "I, um, I heard what you and Grandma were talking about." 

 "Look, buddy, I told you it's nothing you have to worry about. We'll take
care of it." 

 "But..." 

 My grandmother came over and lifted my face to hers. "Ben, do you know
something about this, honey?" she asked, peering at me over her
eyeglasses. 

 I shook my head unconvincingly then looked at the floor as I shuffled my
feet. My courage failed me and I couldn't go through with my confession.
"May I go practice the piano now?" 

 "No, I don't think so. Several weeks ago, your grandfather gave you an
envelope to post. Do you remember?" 

 I shrugged, but didn't look up. 

 "Do you remember, Ben?" 

 "Uh huh, I guess so." 

 "Look at me, please, Ben." 

 I lifted my face to her only as far as necessary to make quick eye
contact. In other words, with guilt written all over my hidden face. 

 "Now look at your grandfather and tell him what you did with that
envelope he asked you to post." 

 I told you I was a terrible liar. Grandma had it all figured out, and I
hadn't said a word about it. "Nothin'," I mumbled incomprehensibly and
then attempted to leave the room. 

 "Come here, boy," Grandpa ordered, and I trudged over to stand before
him, my fingers fidgeting behind my back. "What happened to that
envelope?" 

 I shrugged and turned my head off to one side. 

 "Look at me, young man, and answer my question!" 

 I looked up at my grandfather's uncharacteristically severe face and ran
my tongue across my lips to moisten them, as they were dry with anxiety.
My mouth trembled as I spoke. "I don't know what happened to it, Grandpa."


 "What do you mean, you don't know? Didn't you take it to the post office
as I told you to do?" 

 "Yeah, I mean, I was gonna, but I guess I kinda forgot." 

 "You forgot? How on earth did that happen?" 

 "I don't know, Sir." 

 My grandfather sighed heavily and began to pace about the room, not
saying anything. 

 "Ben, it was very important that that envelope be posted," Grandma
explained. "Your grandfather stressed that with you and you promised that
you would see to it." 

 "I know. I'm sorry." 

 "You never posted it? Is that what I'm hearing, son?" Grandpa asked from
across the room. 

 I looked at him and nodded. I had never seen him looking so angry with
me. His eyes seemed to be boring a hole right through me as he glared at
me sternly. 

 Grandpa didn't yell, although his irritation was clear. His voice was
firm as he spoke. "All right, go get it and bring it to me." 

 "Um, I can't, Grandpa." 

 "Pardon me, buddy?" 

 "I don't have it any more." 

 "Then who does have it?" 

 I looked at Grandma and then back at Grandpa and shrugged. 

 "Well, if you don't know, then who do you suppose might know, eh?" he
asked irritably. 

 "Nobody, I guess." 

 "Are you telling me you lost it?" 

 "Um, uh huh." 

 "A minute ago you said you forgot to post it. Which is it, Ben? Did you
forget to post it, or did you lose it?" 

 "Both, Grandpa. First I forgot, then I, um, lost it." 

 Grandpa scowled and rubbed his forehead. "You should have told me about
this a long time ago. You should have told me about it immediately. You do
know that, don't you?" 

 "Yes, Sir, I know. I'm real sorry." 

 "Yes, well, we'll deal with your questionable behavior in a minute. First
I want to know what exactly became of that envelope. Now, you lost it
between here and the post office, is that it?" he asked with a heavy sigh.


 "Kinda. It was an accident, Grandpa." 

 "An accident," he repeated with suspicion in his voice. He came and stood
before me, perching his hands on his hips just as my father often did when
he was vexed. "Benton Fraser, what happened after you left this house with
instructions from me to take that envelope directly to the post office?
And, I'm warning you, don't tell me you don't know." 

 "But, gosh, Grandpa, that was a long time ago." 

 "Rubbish! I want the truth, Benton, and I want it now! Understand?" 

 I nodded, then took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to tell the
truth so that it wouldn't get me into too much more trouble than I was in
already. "I was going to the post office, like you told me, Grandpa, I
swear I was." 

 "So, what kept you from getting there?" 

 "I, um...I..." I looked down and wrung my hands, unable to face him as I
confessed. "...the guys were, um, playing hockey at the pond, and, um,
they said I could play, too." 

 "What guys?" 

 "Mark and, um, Henry and --" 

 "What were you doing at the pond?" he interrupted. I hesitated to answer,
so Grandpa questioned more specifically. "You should have been on your way
to town. The pond is not on the way to town. Is it?" 

 "I guess I went a different way." 

 "Yes, I guess you did. You had no intention of obeying my instructions,
did you, son?" 

 "Yes, I did, Sir. Honest, I did." 

 "Don't keep lying to me, buddy. You're only making it worse." 

 "I'm not lying, Grandpa." 

 "Then what were you doing at the pond when you should have been on your
way to town?" 

 "Um, I was just checking to see if the guys were there so I could go back
and watch the game after I took your envelope to the post office." 

 "You didn't just check, though, did you?" 

 "No, Sir," I admitted with reluctance. "The guys wanted me to play and
they never asked me to play before." 

 "That's fine. I understand that you were excited to play with the other
boys. But you should have finished your errand and then returned to the
pond to play. Right?" 

 "I told 'em that. I told 'em I was supposed to deliver the envelope
first, but they said I had to play right then or it'd be too late and I
could go to the post office after the game." 

 "Oh, I see. What the guys told you to do was more important than what I
told you to do?" 

 "No, Sir." 

 "Yes, it was, apparently, as you obeyed them instead of me." 

 I felt the blush of shame on my face deepen. "But I was gonna take the
envelope later, right after the game. I promise I was. But, um, I forgot
and then when I remembered..." 

 "You had lost it?" 

 "Uh huh. I looked everywhere, Grandpa, everywhere, but it was gone." 

 "Don't try to blame this on the envelope, son. You were responsible for
it, and you lost it, isn't that right?" 

 "Yes, Sir." 

 "Yes." Grandpa paused for a few seconds then raised his eyebrows and
said, "Your behavior was inexcusable, Ben. You're certainly old enough to
understand the importance of honoring your responsibilities, eh?" 

 "Yes, Sir," I agreed meekly and bowed my head. 

 "And a very important part of those responsibilities is owning up to your
mistakes." 

 "Yes, Sir. I'm very sorry. I won't ever do it again. Please don't be too
mad at me." 

 "The word is angry, honey," my grandmother corrected me, "...and I
believe we have cause to be angry with you." 

 "Yes, Ma'am." 

 There was a moment of silence before Grandpa spoke. "Martha, would you
please excuse the boy and me for a few minutes?" 

 "Are you sure you don't want me to handle this, dear?" 

 "No, no, he needs this one from me." 

 Grandma left, closing the door behind her, and an ominous silence filled
the room for several seconds. Grandpa paced about the room and then sat on
the edge of the desk and crossed his arms before him. "Come over here," he
ordered, and I went to stand before him. "All right, I guess you'd better
give me your belt, son," he said. 

 "My belt, Sir?" 

 "I'm not wearing one," he demonstrated with a pull on his suspenders. 

 "Oh." I was about to remind him of the wooden spoon which Grandma kept in
the desk drawer, but I decided against it. "I'm in for a tanning, Sir?" I
asked with apprehension. 

 "I reckon you've earned one, wouldn't you say?" 

 I slowly nodded my downcast head. "I guess so, Sir." Tannings weren't a
matter of course any time I strayed from the straight and narrow, but,
like many of my contemporaries, I did get spanked on occasion. While I
found these spankings distinctly painful at the time, I wouldn't go so far
as to say I'd been cruelly beaten. My grandparents were firm
disciplinarians, but they were not cruel. And when it was deemed
warranted, Grandma would apply a few corrective swats of the wooden spoon.


 I unbuckled my belt and pulled it out of the loops of my jeans, then kept
my eyes focused on it as I held it out for my grandfather, as I was too
ashamed to meet his eyes. I watched as he took the belt and folded it in
half then tested its sting with a whack to his palm, the sight and sound
of which made me cringe. 

 Upon seeing my start, Grandpa let the belt fall to his side and cocked
his head at me. "This wouldn't be necessary if you'd come to me sooner, of
your own free will, and told me what you did." 

 "Yes, Sir," I whispered as I ignored a tear that had escaped my flooded
eyes. 

 Grandpa remained silent for a moment, then begged my attention with a
touch to my arm. "What happened, Ben?" 

 "I told you what happened, Grandpa." 

 "No, that's not what I mean. This isn't like you. Your blatant
disobedience is bad enough, but to then compound it by lying is
insupportable. I'm extremely disappointed in you. I always thought if
there was one thing I could count on from you, it was honesty." 

 "I know, Sir. I'm so sorry." A tear ran down my cheek and I brushed it
away quickly. "I wish I could have a do-over." 

 "There's no such thing, though, is there?" 

 "No, Sir." 

 "Why didn't you tell me you lost the envelope?" 

 "I don't know." 

 "Answer me, Ben." 

 "I wanted to tell you, Grandpa, but, um, I couldn't." 

 "Of course you could have, but you wouldn't. Isn't that more accurate?" 

 I nodded. 

 "Because you'd have been in trouble for disobeying me?" 

 "I guess." 

 "That's a very poor excuse. And in case you haven't noticed, you're in
mighty deep trouble now." 

 "I know." 

 "Do you also know that Frasers are not afraid to face up to the truth, no
matter what?" 

 "Yes, Sir." 

 "Have I or your grandmother ever given you reason to be afraid to tell us
the truth? Huh? Do we treat you so unfairly that you feel you have to lie
to us?" 

 "No, Sir. I don't lie, most of the time. But this time...I did something
really bad." 

 "Yes, you disobeyed me and, no doubt, you would've been punished for it.
But you didn't really believe it was right to pretend it didn't happen,
did you?" 

 "No. I felt awful about it, Grandpa. Really awful. About everything I
did. I'm ashamed." 

 "Good. I hope you'll remember that in the future." 

 "Yes, Grandpa." 

 "I might also point out that you'll find there's much less to lie about
if you do as you're told in the first place." 

 I nodded my bowed head, then, when Grandpa remained silent, I raised my
face to him expectantly. 

 "I try to be your buddy when you need one, Ben, but you have exhibited a
lack of respect for my authority which deeply troubles me." He paused and
set his face sternly. When he spoke again, he raised his voice slightly to
drive home his point. "I don't believe I'm unreasonably demanding of you,
but I am your elder, your guardian, and you owe me obedience and honesty."


 "I know, Sir." 

 "Yes, I know you do. That's what makes your behavior so intolerable. I'm
afraid I can't let you off with a warning this time. I believe it's more
important right now that I be a father than a buddy." 

 I nodded and gulped. The odds were fairly even that my father would've
stung my behind had he been there, but I was a little taken aback to
discover that my grandfather would take such action. I realized at that
moment that Grandpa was correct. I had shown disregard for his authority,
and I think Grandpa believed he shared the responsibility for that because
of the fact that he had always let Grandma be the stern disciplinarian
while he played the role of 'good cop.' So, this was new territory for
both of us. Territory which my grandfather, quite justifiably, insisted
upon visiting on that day. 

 Grandpa grabbed me by the collar and led me to the desk. "Bend over," he
ordered firmly. 

 And so I got my first, and last, belting from Grandpa. Which hurt all the
more because I knew I deserved it. 

 "You may turn around," I heard him say after the third thwack, and, as I
did, I snuck a hand behind me and tried not to be too obvious as I rubbed
my palm across the seat of my pants. It wouldn't do for Grandpa to think I
wasn't man enough to take my licks. "The burning will die out soon
enough," he said, then grasped my occupied arm and brought it around and
placed the belt into my hand saying, "Here you go. Now, you've got
business to take care of." 

 "I do?" I asked, threading the belt back through the loops. 

 "Somewhere there is a lost envelope waiting to be found." 

 "But I already looked. It's not anywhere." 

 "It has to be somewhere. It didn't fall off the planet. You will look
again and you won't quit. Clear?" he asked, raising his eyebrows just a
bit, almost as if he were daring me to defy him. 

 "Clear, Grandpa," I uttered with a respectful nod. 

 "And that means no playing in the meantime. No hockey, no scouting, no
friends. So, if I were you, I'd not waste any time. I'd get right on it." 

 I couldn't keep from frowning as I heard this sentence pronounced on me
-- a sentence I believed would be impossible to fulfill. What could be the
chances of locating a small envelope which, in all likelihood, had been
buried in snow for almost two months? No, that envelope was undoubtedly
out of our lives for good, and I would never play again. My future looked
unbearably bleak, but I would not cry or whine about it. Not in front of
my grandfather. It wasn't his fault, after all, as much as I would have
liked to blame him. 

 "Yes, Sir," I spat out between my quivering lips. 

 "Is there anything else you'd like to say, Benton?" 

 "No, Sir, just that I'm very, very sorry." 

 "So you said." 

 "And I won't ever disobey you or lie to you again, Grandpa. I promise." 

 "Hmm." 

 "Don't you believe me, Sir?" 

 "Yes, I believe you. And I do appreciate the fact that you finally
confessed. I'm sure it wasn't easy for you, after all this time. However,
I'd also like to believe that you trust me enough to come to me when
something's wrong or troubling you. You know, problems only get worse when
you keep them to yourself instead of sharing them with someone you trust.
Do you trust me, Ben?" 

 "Yes, Grandpa, of course I trust you." 

 "Do you feel any less awful now that you've told me what you did?" 

 "I don't know." 

 "Why don't you know?" 

 "Do I have to tell you?" 

 "If you trust me, you will." 

 I sighed and averted my gaze. "I, um...I don't want you to, um, not like
me any more." 

 "Listen, Ben, I punished you because you misbehaved, not because I don't
like you." 

 "No, I know. That's not what I meant." I squirmed a little and tried to
explain. "I disappointed you." 

 "Yes, that's true. I don't like what you did. I don't like that one bit.
But I hardly think I need give up on you just because you made a mistake.
The world would be a lonely place, indeed, if we couldn't forgive our
mistakes. I've known you all your life and I know that, on the whole,
you're not disobedient and dishonest. So, if it's all the same to you,
I'll continue to rely on you to do what you know is right as best you can.
And when you fail to do so, I'll see that you answer for it. Sound fair?" 

 "Yes, Grandpa." 

 "All right, er, you're dismissed. You may go." There was such tenderness
in Grandpa's voice as he spoke, and it pierced my heart to know how
bitterly I had hurt him. His chastisement of me seemed superficial
compared to the deep blow I had given him. 

 I ran to my room and closed the door, immediately breaking into a
heartfelt sob. It was imperative that I not be heard, however, so I fell
onto my bed and cried into my pillow, feeling the mattress jump under me
with each convulsive gasp. I didn't cry for very long. I'm sure if I'd
wanted to, I could have kept it up until there were no more tears to be
shed, but, as Grandpa had pointed out, I had business to attend to. Even
if there was no hope of succeeding in my onerous task, an attempt had to
be made. 

 I decided to start my search by retracing my steps that day, so I went to
seek my grandparents' permission to leave the house. I found them in the
study, and I knocked on the open door to get their attention. 

 "Yes, honey, what is it?" my grandmother asked pleasantly. 

 "Um, I wanted to ask you if I may go outside so I can start looking for
the envelope." 

 "Oh, I don't think so, honey. It's late and it's pitch dark outside. Wait
till morning. You wouldn't be able to see anything out there now." 

 "I can bring a flashlight." 

 "If you wait till morning, you won't need a flashlight." 

 "Please, Grandma," I entreated. "If I don't find it soon, it's gonna be
ruined forever in the snow and stuff." 

 Grandma sighed. "Come here, honey." 

 I entered the room and approached the desk behind which she and Grandpa
were seated. "Grandpa said I should start lookin' for it right away," I
explained to justify my somewhat argumentative behavior. 

 "Ah, well then, Grandpa, shall we allow Ben to go out at this time of
night?" 

 Grandpa and I looked at each other. He seemed to be studying me as he
gazed into my eyes and furrowed his brow. Finally, his face relaxed and he
replied, "Yes, I guess we'd best let the boy do his job." 

 I wrinkled my mouth to suppress a smile, as it didn't seem the
appropriate time for a smile. "Thanks, Grandpa," I said with solidly-set
jaw. "I'll look everywhere, like you said, and won't quit." 

 "Fine. I'll wait for your report, then." 

 "Okay. 'Bye, Sir." I offered my hand and he shook it firmly. "'Bye,
Grandma," I then said with a nod in her direction before turning to leave.


 "Bundle up, honey. And don't stay out too long," Grandma advised as I
made my way out of the study and went to fetch my gear. 

 Despite my grandmother's advice not to stay out too long, I was pretty
certain it would be a very long night, indeed, so I intended to prepare
myself with food, drink, and extra clothing. There was an awful lot of
ground to cover. First, I would have to retrace the path I had taken that
night, and then, if no envelope revealed itself, I would have to widen my
search. There was really no telling where the envelope may have gotten to
since I'd last seen it. 

 

 I took off through the woods, following the same path I had taken on that
fateful day. With the darkness and the snow I knew chances were very slim
that I would discover the envelope, even if it were in the vicinity. After
a couple of hours of fruitless searching, I found myself at the edge of
the woods which opened up onto the pond behind Mark Smithbauer's house.
The pond where we played hockey. I intended to search this area with a
fine-tooth comb, as it seemed the most likely place where the envelope may
have fallen out of my pocket. 

 A short while later, I noticed the last light extinguish in the
Smithbauer's house and I realized they must have been going to bed for the
night. I suddenly felt all alone in the world and began to grow frantic as
I wondered what would become of my life which was now dedicated to one
purpose: finding a lost envelope. I shook my head and sniffled in defiance
of the cry that was building inside me and struggling to break the
surface. Several rapid blinks of my eyes held the tears back, however,
and, thus fortified, I resumed my search of the area. 

 I was startled about ten minutes later by a rumbling sound. I quickly
recognized the sound and turned toward the pond, squinting my eyes until I
was able to make out the figure of someone skating. It had to be Mark, I
told myself, and crept closer for confirmation. Yes, it was Mark,
performing sprint after sprint across the length of the frozen surface of
the pond. I was so excited at the prospect of a friendly face that I ran
out onto the ice and slipped, falling onto my buttocks. Before I could
even see him, I heard Mark approaching at such a brisk pace that neither
of us had time to see the other and avoid a collision. 

 Mark tripped over me and was propelled through the air, howling as he
landed face down and slid a good several meters down the ice, stopping
only after drilling a sizeable hole into the snow bank with his body. 

 I watched the whole thing, stunned, but when I could discern no sound or
movement coming from him, I rushed to my feet and slid across the ice to
the edge of the snow bank into which he had disappeared. I must have been
in somewhat of a state of shock, as I didn't even notice the gash his
skate blade had torn through my jeans and into the underlying flesh of my
thigh, nor was I aware of the warm blood trickling down my leg. 

 "Mark!" I called into the hole in the snow. He had really hit the snow
with a great force, as none of his body was visible outside the snow bank.
"Are you okay?" 

 "Gemeeouveer!" I heard mumbled back loudly but incomprehensibly. 

 "What?" 

 "Out! Get me out!" he yelled back emphatically. 

 "Oh, okay." I got down on my hands and knees and peered into the snow
tunnel. "Hang on, I'll get you." I started to dig away at the snow with my
hands and finally came upon two skates. I grabbed onto the blades and
began pulling toward me. Once more of his body was uncovered, I stood up
and pulled Mark out of the snow bank by his legs. He still wore a dusting
of snow from head to toe, so I began to brush the snow away, starting at
his face. "Are you all right, Mark?" 

 Suddenly he sat up and shook his body, accompanying the shake with a
holler such as one lets out upon jumping naked into the frosty waters of a
half-thawed lake at springtime. "Wow, man! Did you see that?" 

 "Um, yeah..." 

 "Just like a rocket, clear through the snow bank!" 

 "Yeah. Sorry. I guess I kinda got in your way when you were -- " 

 "Imagine how far I coulda gone in if I'd really been trying!" 

 "Yeah, I guess. Um..." 

 "Hey, who are you, anyway, eh?" 

 "It's me, Ben. Ben Fraser." 

 "Ben Fraser?" 

 "Yeah. I, um, play hockey with you and the other guys sometimes." 

 "Oh, yeah. I remember you now. You're always the last one left when we
pick teams, eh?" 

 "Uh, yeah," I blushed. 

 "Who taught you to play hockey, anyway? You stink." 

 "Sorry. Nobody taught me. I watched you guys play a lot and one day you
said I could play, too, if I wanted." 

 "I said that?" 

 "Uh huh. But if you don't want me to play any more -- " 

 "No, no, no. That's okay. I guess I owe you now, anyway, since you pulled
me out of that snow bank." He nudged me in the arm and winked and I
smiled, grateful for the fact that he did not point out that I was the
cause of the mishap. "How old are you, eh?" 

 "I'm twelve, almost. Well, in a few months I will be." 

 "I'm twelve. So how come I never see you at school?" 

 "My grandmother teaches me at home." 

 "Really? Your grandmother?" 

 "She was a schoolteacher." 

 "Oh. So, how does that work? I mean, does she give you all 'A's 'cause
you're family or is she real tough on you, always ratting on you to your
folks if you don't do your homework or if you fail a quiz or something?" 

 "I don't have...I mean, I live with my grandparents. My mum died and my
dad is, um, well he's never home 'cause he's always working." 

 "Oh, hey, sorry. Your mum died? I didn't know." 

 "It's okay. It was a long time ago. I was only six then." 

 "Musta been hard, eh?" 

 "Uh huh, it was." I turned my head, as I didn't want him to see the tears
welling in my eyes. 

 "Fraser. I know that name. Is that your grandparents who run the library
in town?" 

 "Yeah, that's them." 

 "I had an overdue book once and when I finally took it back, your
grandmother gave me a stupid lecture about responsibility and
consideration for others and then made me stay for an hour to re-shelve a
bunch of books." 

 "Hmm, yeah, me too, except I got two hours." 

 Mark laughed and gave me a friendly punch in the arm. "What's your dad
do, then?" 

 "He's a Mountie." 

 "Damn! A Mountie? Are you fooling me?" 

 "No, why would I do that?" 

 "So he, like, arrests people and puts them in prison, eh?" 

 "Uh huh." 

 "Heck, how do you ever have any fun living with schoolteachers and
librarians and having a Mountie for a dad?" 

 I wasn't sure how to answer him. I was proud of my dad and my
grandparents, but he seemed to be putting them down. "Fun?" 

 "Yeah, you know. Goofing off, pulling pranks on the neighbors, pinching
stuff from the general store." 

 "Pinching stuff?" 

 "Well, not so's it's grand larceny or anything. Small stuff. You know,
candy, magazines, cigarettes..." 

 "Oh, I don't smoke." 

 "Never? Not even a puff?" 

 "Uh-uh." 

 "You see what I mean? Every kid takes a puff of a cigarette at least
once." 

 "What for? My grandmother says smoking is bad for you. The chemicals in
the tobacco are ingested into your body and they damage your lungs, your
heart, your mouth, and cause all sorts of problems. She says every time
someone smokes, he's killing himself a little bit." 

 Mark paused and looked at me quizzically. "I bet you've never had a
drink, either, eh?" 

 "You mean like alcohol?" 

 "Yeah, man. Like a shot of whiskey, vodka, gin, anything?" 

 "No." 

 "A sip of beer?" 

 I shook my head, embarrassed and worried that Mark was finding me a
totally unacceptable friend. "Sorry." 

 "Hey, it's not my loss, man." 

 "Wait, there was that one time when I was little. My dad said I could
taste his beer, so I took a mouthful." 

 "Now you're talking!" 

 "But it was disgusting so I spit it out. And then my dad yelled at me for
wasting good beer." 

 "Want some friendly advice, man?" 

 "I guess." 

 "You need to loosen up. Rebel once in a while. Otherwise, you're bound to
lose it one of these days." 

 "Lose what?" 

 "Your marbles. Your mind. Your sanity." 

 "I'll go crazy if I don't smoke or drink?" 

 "No, man, you just gotta do something wrong, do something just because
you feel like doing it, no matter how many people tell you you shouldn't
do it." 

 "I do bad stuff sometimes, but then I get in trouble with my
grandparents. Actually, that's why I'm out here." 

 "Eh? You running away or something?" 

 "No. It's a long story, but, um, I lost something I was supposed to mail
for my grandfather and I have to find it." 

 "You lost it here?" 

 "Maybe. I'm not sure. It was a while ago." 

 "How long?" 

 "A couple months." 

 "Jesus Christ, man! You lost something two months ago and you think
you're gonna find it now?" 

 "No, I'm pretty sure I won't find it, but my grandpa says I have to keep
looking." 

 "Until when?" 

 "Until I find it, I guess." 

 "But if you're not gonna find it, what's the point? I mean, you're gonna
have to give up eventually, right?" 

 "I can't give up." 

 "That's nuts, man. What the hell did you lose, anyway? It must've been
awful important." 

 "It was a payment Grandpa owed somebody. It was in an envelope and he
gave it to me to take to the post office, but I lost it. Now he's in
trouble because he still owes the money, and it's all my fault." 

 "Oh, man. Money's a big one. Adults always get bent out of shape when a
kid loses money. Wish I could help you, Barney--" 

 "Ben," I corrected him. "Ben Fraser." 

 "Well, Ben Fraser, if an envelope has been lost in this snow for two
months, it's a goner. I mean, even if, by some miracle, you did find it,
there's not gonna be anything left of it." 

 I nodded in agreement, then stood. "Okay, well, thanks. I guess I better
get back to work. Sorry I got in your way before." 

 "No problem, man. It was a wild ride! See you around, eh? Come over
anytime. We'll see what we can do with you." 

 "Do with me?" 

 "You got potential, man. With a little help and lots of practice you
could play some decent hockey." 

 "Really? I thought you said I stink?" 

 "Yeah, well, maybe you're not all that bad. You skate as good as anyone
-- better than lots of guys. Your game just needs some work." 

 "You mean you'll teach me how to play as good as you?" 

 Mark chuckled and rose to his feet. "Look, I don't mean to brag or
anything, but I'm the best around here in a long time. Everyone says so.
So don't get any crazy ideas about besting me or you'll just be
disappointed. I can make you a better hockey player, that's all I'll
promise, eh?" 

 "Okay. That's good enough...I mean, thanks." I was about to turn to
leave, when I suddenly remembered my grandfather's proclamation that I
would not be playing anything until the lost envelope was found. "Oh,
darn!" I cursed softly. 

 "What's the matter?" 

 "I don't think I'll be able to take lessons from you." 

 "How come?" 

 "My grandfather said I'm not to do anything else, including playing
hockey, until I find the envelope." 

 "So, you tell him you looked and couldn't find it. He can't punish you
forever, unless he's a hell of a rotten son of a bitch." 

 "Shh, no, Mark, don't say that. He's not...that. Really. He's my friend."


 "He don't sound like much of a friend to me." 

 "You don't understand. I really disappointed him. I lost the envelope
because I disobeyed him. I played hockey instead of going straight to the
post office. And then I lied and told him I mailed it. That's why he's so
mad at me." 

 "Then he should kick your butt and ground you for a week or two, but
making you spend the rest of your life looking for that stupid envelope is
ridiculous." 

 I sighed at my inability to acknowledge the fact that I agreed with Mark.
Looking for the envelope was a waste of my time, except as a means of
punishment. And, although I knew I deserved to be punished, I couldn't
help feeling my sentence was a bit extreme. "I gotta go," I said and, as I
turned and took a step away, I found my path blocked by an approaching
figure. 

 "You should listen to your friend," my grandfather advised as he gave my
neck a gentle squeeze. 

 "Grandpa! What're you doing here?" 

 "Your grandmother thought I might find you here. It's very late. She
wants you home for the night." 

 "I can't come home yet. I haven't found the envelope." 

 "Haven't you? Hmm, why do you suppose that is?" 

 "I don't know. I wasn't playing, Grandpa, I swear. I've been looking for
the envelope." 

 "Uh huh. Who's your friend?" 

 "Oh, this is Mark Smithbauer. He lives over there," I said, pointing to
the house beyond the pond. 

 "Hello, young man," my grandfather greeted Mark with a handshake. "I know
your folks. Fine people. Good neighbors." 

 "Yes, Sir. I was just, er, trying to help Ben," Mark replied nervously,
undoubtedly wondering how much of our conversation my grandfather had
heard. 

 "Yes, I'm afraid I couldn't help overhearing the two of you. I understand
my grandson plays hockey with you." 

 "Uh, yeah." 

 "Not very well, though, eh?" Grandpa said with a smirk. 

 "Oh, um, he plays okay, Sir. He just needs to play more often and he'll
get better." 

 "I see." 

 "Grandpa?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "This is where I played hockey instead of mailing your envelope, so I
might've lost it here." 

 "Ah, but you haven't found it yet?" 

 "Uh-uh, not yet." 

 "There's been lots of new snow cover since then, eh?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "So it's not very likely you're gonna find one small envelope you lost
two months ago if it's been buried in snow, is it?" 

 "I don't know. Maybe I will." 

 "Maybe. Not tonight, though. Let's go home, son." He put his arm around
me, but I stepped away and resisted going with him. "Benton?" he queried
with a slight edge to his voice. 

 "Please, may I keep looking, Sir. I wanna find it." 

 "To use the words of your smart, young friend, here, spending the rest of
your life looking for that envelope would be 'ridiculous'." 

 "But you said I had to find it." 

 "Not exactly. I told you you had to look for it again and weren't to play
in the meantime. I didn't say you couldn't sleep or eat." 

 "I brought some food with me," I explained, indicating the knapsack slung
over my back. 

 "Enough to keep you alive forever?" 

 "Huh?" 

 "What if you never find the envelope?" 

 I was silent as I faced that possibility, finally managing only a sad
shrug. 

 Grandpa stepped close to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Am I, to
quote your friend once again, a 'hell of a rotten son of a bitch'?" 

 I lifted my face to him in shock to hear him use such language. "No,
Grandpa! I told Mark that wasn't true." 

 "Then why don't you trust me?" 

 "I do." 

 "No, you don't." 

 "Yes, I do! I swear I do!" 

 "You can swear it up and down, Ben, but until you start being honest with
me and confiding in me when you're in distress, I will not believe that
you trust me." He spoke those words with more volume and more anger than
he had used when he reprimanded me earlier that evening. 

 I struggled to hold back tears. "I don't know what you want me to say." 

 "Yes, you do, but if you're not willing to say it, we may as well just go
home to bed. It's late and your grandmother's waiting up. Good night,
young man," he said to Mark and then squeezed my neck to insist upon my
following him. However, as I took the first step, my injured leg collapsed
under me and I finally realized I had been wounded in the collision with
Mark. 

 I fell to the ground, clutching my leg and wincing in pain and Grandpa
and Mark both rushed to see what was wrong. "It's okay, Grandpa," I said,
trying to push him away. "My leg just got cut a little bit." 

 "Let me take a look at it, Ben," Grandpa insisted, so I backed away to
allow him to see it. "Oh, dear, that's quite a gash you got there." He
took some snow and spread it on my leg to clean away some of the blood. 

 "My skate blade musta caught you when I fell over you," Mark reasoned.
"Sorry, man." 

 "It was my fault for getting in your way." 

 "We're gonna have to stop the bleeding," Grandpa said. "Hopefully you
won't need any stitches." 

 "It's not that bad, is it?" 

 "It's bad enough to have been bleeding all this time, but apparently not
bad enough for you to notice until just now. Didn't you feel anything,
Ben?" 

 "I don't know. I guess not." 

 "He's a pretty tough kid, Mr. Fraser. You should see him on the ice. He's
smaller than some of the guys, but he doesn't back down for nobody." 

 "Yes, well, he's a little too tough for his own good, perhaps. Just like
his dad." He shot a meaningful glance at me, then looked at Mark. "May I
bring him to your house, Mark? I can't fix him up properly out here in the
dark." 

 "Sure thing. Um, follow me." Mark started to waddle toward the house in
his skates. 

 "All right, Ben, put your arms around my neck and I'll carry you in,"
Grandpa instructed. 

 "I can walk by myself, Grandpa." 

 "Do as I tell you, boy!" he snapped, and I immediately complied without
so much as a 'Yes, Sir.' My grandfather lifted me and held me with my
knees draped over his right arm and his other arm wrapped around my back.
He sighed as he began to follow Mark, but not, as I first assumed, because
of my weight. "I didn't mean to yell, son. I just need you to let me take
care of this for you, okay?" 

 "Okay." 

 "All right, then." 

 "Grandpa?" I said after an uneasy silence. 

 "Yes?" 

 "I'm sorry I made you angry before. I just wanted to find the envelope so
you wouldn't be in trouble anymore." 

 "So I wouldn't be in trouble anymore?" 

 "Yeah, 'cause you owe that money and you got that letter saying you have
to pay it." 

 "Don't worry about that. I'll pay the bill." 

 "But I lost the money and money doesn't grow on trees." My grandmother
was quite fond of that expression and made it one of her missions in life
to impress it upon me as well. 

 "No, it doesn't, you're quite right about that. But you didn't lose the
money, just the check. I'll call the bank and have them cancel the check
and I'll write another one to pay the bill." 

 "You can do that?" 

 "Oh, yes. People do it all the time. That check of mine wasn't the only
one that's ever gone missing." 

 "So you didn't lose any money 'cause of me?" 

 "Oh, no, I wouldn't say that. There were some late fees I've had to pay."


 "Oh. A lot?" 

 "Enough, but I guess we'll manage." 

 "Does that mean you're not too angry anymore?" 

 Grandpa didn't answer right away. As I watched, his face contorted with
the weight of my question and, no doubt, of my body. "I was never angry
that you lost the envelope. A little frustrated, perhaps. But I was angry
because of the reason you lost the envelope and angrier still -- not to
mention hurt -- because you didn't tell me about it." 

 "Yes, Sir." 

 "A few minutes ago you told Mark that I'm your friend." 

 "Uh huh." 

 "I'd like you to remember that any time you're afraid to tell me
something. You might realize your fear is unfounded." 

 "I didn't think you'd wanna be my friend anymore if I told you what I
did." 

 "Yes, like I said, you didn't trust our friendship." 

 I blushed in shame and looked at my lap. "I felt like I didn't deserve
your friendship because I, um, because...." 

 "Because friendship is a two-way street and since you betrayed me you
figured why shouldn't I do the same to you?" 

 "Yes, Sir. Something like that." 

 "And now? Do you believe we're still friends?" 

 "I hope so, Grandpa. I want us to be. I think you're, um, the best
grandpa a guy could have. Even when you had to, um, punish me, you hardly
yelled or anything." 

 "Hmm, I hope I was stern enough to make my point?" 

 "Yes, Sir. But..." 

 "But what, son?" 

 "But what if I can't ever find the envelope?" 

 "Then I suppose you'll have to do as your friend suggested and tell me
you tried but you couldn't find it, eh?" 

 "That's all I have to do?" 

 "I demand your best from you. If you give me that, what more can I ask?" 

 "I'll do my best, Grandpa. I promise." 

 "I know you will, buddy. Just don't be telling yourself it's not good
enough. That's what gets you in such an anxious state and makes you afraid
to talk to me. Understand?" 

 "Okay. I'll try." 

 "Good. Feeling better now, then?" 

 "Yeah...except there is one thing I guess I should tell you." 

 "Oh? What might that be?" 

 "Well, that day I lost the envelope, I snuck out of the house that night,
after you and Grandma were asleep." 

 "Snuck out of the house?" 

 "I'm sorry. I know I'm not allowed outside in the middle of the night
without permission, but I wanted to see if I could find the envelope. I
came back to the pond to see if I dropped it when I was playing with the
guys, but I couldn't see it anywhere. And then I got worried that you or
Grandma would find out I was gone, so I went back home." 

 "Ah. So, you see what happens when you lie? You end up breaking all sorts
of rules to hide the truth." 

 I nodded, but our conversation was brought to a halt as we reached the
house. Mark was calling to us as he held open the door while
simultaneously kicking off his skates. "Come on in. I'll get you some
bandages and stuff." 

 Grandpa carried me inside the house and sat me on the counter by the
kitchen sink as Mark fetched the first aid supplies from a cabinet. I held
my breath and grimaced in anticipation as I saw Grandpa preparing to clean
my wound with an antiseptic-soaked gauze and, when he noticed my state, he
drew back his hand and smiled. "This'll sting a bit, Ben, but it's for
your own good. We don't want it getting infected." 

 I let out my breath so I could speak. "I know. It's okay, Grandpa. It
won't hurt too much." 

 "All right, tough guy," he replied with an encouraging squeeze of my
shoulder. 

 "Am I really as tough as Dad, Grandpa?" I asked with a wince as the
antiseptic stung my broken flesh. 

 He looked at me and smirked, but didn't get a chance to answer, as Mark's
father suddenly appeared, wearing his pajamas and wiping sleep from his
eyes. All three of us were startled by the new voice. "What in the blue
blazes is going on here?" he asked. 

 As Grandpa straightened up and turned to face Mr. Smithbauer, he held the
soaked gauze rather firmly to my cut, causing a good deal of pain from the
pressure and from the antiseptic. My eyes watered with the strain of
holding back a yelp as I tried to get my grandfather's attention by
tugging on his sleeve while he spoke to Mr. Smithbauer. 

 "Ah, Mike," Grandpa greeted him with his free hand extended. "Sorry to
disturb you at this hour of the night, but my grandson has had a bit of an
accident, and your boy was kind enough to invite us in so that I could fix
him up." 

 "Oh, well, yes," Mr. Smithbauer said as he came closer for a look at me. 

 I exhaled heavily in relief and roughly wiped my eyes as Grandpa removed
his hand and the gauze from my wound to reveal it to Mr. Smithbauer. 

 "That's a nasty cut, there, young man," Mr. Smithbauer said
sympathetically as Grandpa soaked a fresh piece of gauze and began to dab
the wound carefully while he examined the extent of the damage. "How'd you
happen to come by that?" 

 I hesitated to answer, as Mark stood across the room, waving his arms
wildly and shaking his head to plead with me not to tell what had really
happened. I guessed that Mark was not supposed to be outside skating, and
I didn't want to get him into trouble. "Um, I don't know," I replied
softly then winced when Grandpa squeezed the antiseptic into the deepest
part of the cut and gave me a look of disapproval. 

 "Apparently the boys were out on the pond and got a little careless," my
grandfather told him. 

 Mr. Smithbauer turned around to look at Mark. "You were out on the pond
just now?" 

 "Uh, yeah, Dad. I was just doing a few laps, that's all." 

 "We've been over this before, Mark. No skating after curfew. I don't
imagine you've forgotten?" 

 "No, Sir." Mark was clearly embarrassed as he dropped his head. "Sorry." 

 "Say good-night and go to bed. We'll discuss this in the morning." 

 "Mum doesn't have to know about this, does she, Dad? She doesn't
understand how important hockey is to me." 

 "Other things are important, too, you know." 

 "Yeah, I know, but I needed the extra workout, Dad. With my chores and
homework and everything, I didn't have enough ice time." 

 "Speaking of homework, did you finish yours tonight?" 

 "Um, well, most of it." 

 "In other words, no, you didn't finish it?" 

 Mark shook his head and looked at the floor. 

 "We'll have a nice long talk about that in the morning, as well. In the
meantime, think about what happened. You broke the rules and this young
fellow paid the price." 

 "It wasn't Mark's fault, Sir," I interrupted boldly. 

 "Ben, mind your own business," my grandfather rebuked gently. 

 "But this is my business, Grandpa. It was my fault I got hurt 'cause I
got in Mark's way." 

 "I believe that is irrelevant to the point Mr. Smithbauer was trying to
make." 

 "Yes, it was," Mr. Smithbauer confirmed. 

 "But --" 

 "Hush, Benton," Grandpa ordered sternly. "You hear me?" 

 "Yes, Sir," I mumbled, then looked at Mr. Smithbauer. "I'm sorry, Sir. I
was just trying to explain what happened." Out of the corner of my eye, I
could see my grandfather glaring at me, so I avoided looking his way. 

 "What's your name, young man?" Mr. Smithbauer asked. 

 "It's Ben, Benton Fraser." 

 "Well, Ben, it's very noble of you to want to take the blame, but I think
it would be best if you let me handle my son, eh?" 

 I felt my face go a hot crimson as Mark's father put me in my place. I
couldn't bring myself to speak, so I just nodded my head penitently,
catching a glimpse of Mark's smirk as I did so. When he winked at me, I
involuntarily smirked back and then the two of us tried to hide our smirks
as Grandpa and Mr. Smithbauer eyed us with suspicion. Grandpa finally got
my full attention when he pulled a bandage tightly around my thigh and
knotted it. "Ow, that's kind of tight, Grandpa," I whined. 

 "It needs to be tight to bring the bleeding under control. Now, we'd best
be going." He lifted me from the counter and set me on my feet, then stood
back to survey me. He made a few adjustments to my garments, but finally
sighed in defeat, "Your grandmother's gonna have a fit when she sees you."


 I frowned as I looked down at myself and noticed for the first time the
large rip in my blood-stained jeans. "Maybe I can mend my trousers,
Grandpa," I suggested, although I had a nagging suspicion that my
grandmother was going to wear another hole into them, right through the
seat -- while I was still wearing them! 

 "Hmm, you can work that out with Grandma. Let's go." 

 I approached Mr. Smithbauer and offered my hand, which he accepted with a
smile. "Thank you, Sir," was all I dared say. 

 "You're welcome, Ben. I'm pleased to meet any friend of my son's. I take
it you play hockey with him?" 

 "A little bit. He said he could teach me to play better." 

 "Ah, well, maybe while he's teaching you to play better, you can teach
him to do something besides play hockey, eh?" 

 "Like what, Sir?" 

 "I don't know. What are you good at?" 

 "Um, well, I can track pretty good." 

 "Ah, you do a lot of hunting?" 

 "No, I'm not allowed yet. Not till I'm thirteen. I just track 'em down. I
can do that quite well." 

 "All right, Ben," my grandfather said as he put a hand to my shoulder.
"No boasting." 

 "I'm not, Grandpa. He asked me." 

 Grandpa clenched his arm around my neck, pulling me to him and rubbing
his fist against the top of my head as he teased, "Oh he did, did he,
smark aleck?" 

 Mr. Smithbauer laughed. "He's right, you know, George. I did ask." 

 

 Grandpa wanted to carry me home, but I wouldn't let him. It was much too
long of a walk for him to be so burdened. Instead, I grasped his hand and
leaned on him for support as I hobbled my way home. 

 "What on Earth have you been up to, child?" Grandma shrieked as I
reluctantly presented my torn, bloody, bandaged self to her while
maintaining my grip on Grandpa's hand. 

 "Nothin', Grandma. It was just an accident. My leg got cut by Mark's
skate, but Grandpa fixed it, and I can fix my jeans." 

 "He's all right, dear," Grandpa assured her. 

 Grandma probed about my leg, examining it through her eyeglasses and then
looked at me over her glasses to ask, "You're going to mend that rip?" 

 "Yes, Ma'am. Right away," I asserted with determination. 

 Grandma smiled then dropped carefully to her knees, extending her arms
invitingly. "Come here, you," she said and I rushed gladly into her
embrace, hugging her as tightly as she hugged me. "The trousers are
replaceable, honey; you're not," she whispered into my ear as she rubbed
her hands vigorously up and down my back. "Besides, the way you've been
growing lately, it's about time you had a new pair of trousers." 

 "I love you, Grandma," I mumbled into the crook of her neck. 

 She replied with a kiss to my head and a smack to my behind and then
pulled me back to stand before her. "And what time of night do you call
this, young man?" 

 I checked my watch and answered, "Eleven thirty-seven and fourteen
seconds." I looked back up at her and added, "P.M." 

 Grandma seemed to be restraining a smile as she perused me for a couple
seconds before responding, "If you're not bathed, into your pajamas, and
under your covers with your eyes closed by the stroke of midnight, you're
going to be in very hot water, Mister!" 

 I stalled to gauge whether she was really angry with me, and I was
rewarded with a wink which told me she was not angry, but meant business,
nonetheless. A grin overtook my face, from ear to ear, and I giggled as I
gave my grandmother one of my wise-crack remarks which I suspected amused
her, though she would never admit it. "Gosh, Grandma, how much hot water
can a guy get in in one day?" 

 Sure enough, the sides of my grandmother's mouth turned up slightly,
against her will. In defense, she reached out a hand and applied a gentle
tug to my ear and then grasped my chin and shook it back and forth once,
slowly. "Try hard enough, smart-aleck, and you'll find out!" She tweaked
my nose and I giggled again. "Now, scoot, before I put you in the tub and
scrub you myself!" 

 My eyes widened in horror at such a thought. "You can't, Grandma! I'm too
old for you to give me a bath." 

 "Then I guess you'd best get a move-on, hadn't you?" 

 I whirled around and rushed from the room as fast as my injured leg would
allow. 

 

 Once I was cleaned up and ready for bed, I took my small piggy bank from
my desk and tried to gauge the worth of its contents by shaking it and
feeling its weight. I knew it held some paper bills, as well as the coins,
because my grandmother had made me put most of the money my dad sent for
birthdays and Christmas into it for a 'rainy day'. With some regret, I
then lugged the piggy bank out to the living room, where I found my
grandparents seated on the couch, their heads resting against each other,
their eyes closed. I stood before them and coughed in an attempt to alert
them to my presence. It didn't work, so I coughed again, louder, rousing
Grandpa who, upon seeing me, nudged my grandmother awake. 

 "What is it, honey?" she asked, and then, remembering, added, "Are you
ready for bed?" 

 "Yes, Ma'am. But first I have to give this to Grandpa," I answered,
holding out the piggy bank to him. 

 "What's this, buddy?" he asked, taking the bank onto his lap. 

 "It's all the money I have saved." 

 "So I see. Why are you giving it to me?" 

 "Well, 'cause I owe it to you 'cause you had to pay the, um, late fees
when I lost your check." 

 "Ah, the late fees." 

 "If it's not enough, I can give you the rest later. Maybe I can get a
job." 

 "I don't think that will be necessary, Ben. Here," he said, placing the
piggy bank in my arms, "why don't you put this back in your room where it
belongs." 

 "But aren't you gonna take the money out first?" 

 "No." He and Grandma got up from the couch and tried to lead me back to
my room, but I resisted. 

 "How come? It was my fault so I should pay for it." 

 "You've paid for your mistake. I appreciate your offer, but that money is
yours and will stay in your piggy bank." 

 "But " 

 "I don't want an argument. Understand?" 

 I hemmed and hawed because, although I hadn't wanted to part with my
savings, my conscience was uneasy with my grandfather's refusal to accept
the money. "How about if I give it to Grandma instead?" I suggested in
desperation. 

 "How about if you march it back to your room as I told you to do before I
become angry?" 

 And so I did. My grandparents followed me as I returned the piggy bank to
its place on my desk and then turned to face them with my fingers
nervously entwined behind my back. "I didn't want to make you angry, Sir."


 "Who, me? Angry?" He smiled a devilish smile, then scooped me up into his
arms, carried me across the room, and dropped me face down onto my bed so
that I bounced as if on a trampoline. As I grinned and tried to keep the
bouncing going, Grandpa settled me down with a pat to my bottom, followed
by a firm, affectionate rub. I got the impression that he was trying to
erase the tanning he'd given me earlier and, as far as I was concerned, he
had. 

 "Under the covers," he said, pulling down the blankets so that I could
crawl under them. "How's the leg?" he asked once I was settled. 

 "Fine." 

 "We'll take another look in the morning, eh? We gotta get you healed up
so you can start those hockey lessons." 

 "Can I, Grandpa? Really?" 

 "Well, as long as it's all right with your grandmother." 

 We both looked at her for a verdict, but she didn't know what we were
talking about. "What's this you two are cooking up now?" she asked. 

 I looked to Grandpa to ask silently if he would tell Grandma about it,
but he just gave me a look of encouragement and said, "Well, go on, Ben.
Answer your grandmother." 

 "Um, well," I began, looking at my grandmother imploringly. "Mark said
he'll teach me how to play hockey better. Is it okay, Grandma? May I take
lessons from him, please?" 

 "I don't want your studies and your chores suffering," she replied. 

 "They won't. I promise. Please?" 

 Grandma kissed me on the cheek then smiled as she brushed my hair away
from my face. "We'll work out a new schedule for you." 

 "Oh, boy!" I shrieked joyfully and sat up, throwing my arms around my
grandmother. "Thanks, Grandma!" 

 "You're welcome, sweetie. Lie down now and go to sleep, you hear?" 

 After kissing Grandma's cheek, I lay down and she pulled the blankets
snugly around me and wished me sweet dreams. "You, too, Grandma," I
replied with a smile. Earlier that evening, sweet dreams had seemed a
thing of the past. Now, I reckoned they were a real possibility.
"Grandpa?" I called out as my grandparents reached my door on their way
out. 

 "Yes?" 

 I thought for a moment to find the best words for what I wanted to say.
"Goodnight, buddy," I finally said. 

 "Goodnight, buddy," he responded with a wink and a twinkling smile. 

 THE END 

 maryspen@aol.com