Wednesday right at 12:40, I was ready to go. Cutler gave me detailed instructions and I wrote them all down. The last thing he said was, “Look for the house with the garage like a barn.” Just to be safe, I had double-checked the directions with my uncle, and they had all checked out.

It took me ten minutes, so I made it there in plenty of time. Cutler was right; the garage looked like a barn with its wood-like front door and with the windows outlined in red. I could almost imagine little shutters with X’s on them folding over them like barn doors. He didn’t mention something more obvious, though — the pieces of paper attached to various places. The mailbox had one, the garage door had one, a cluster of trees in the front yard had one. That, and there were four bikes leaned up against the far side of the garage. I parked mine with the rest and knocked on the front door.

Cutler’s mom greeted me. She stood about my height, had her long black hair tied back in a ponytail, and wore an apron. She was slender and if it wasn’t for the apron, I would have thought she was in high school.

“You must be Chris,” she said, smiling. “Come on in. J and the rest are out back on the porch.”

“Thanks,” I said, and cut through the family room to the porch.

I opened the porch door and stepped into a crowd of half-dressed-up people. Cutler was wearing a fake moustache and a red velvet tri-corner hat (I remembered the name from “Pirates In Space” that I saw last year) and a black t-shirt that read in pixelated letters, “Abort, Retry, or Fail?” He was standing nearest the door, and he shouted, “Chris has arrived!” as soon as I opened the door. I felt a little embarrassed by him making such a big deal over it, but I guess it was ok because it was my first time. “We’re still waiting for Madam S,” he added. “Come on and meet everybody. Oh, I’m Prince Zarithus.”

“Jeff is the mad wizard Graeca.” Jeff wore a drooping wizard’s hat and carried an intricately carved wand. Instinctively, I made some kind of protective sign and he gave me a strained vacant look. Then he smiled. “Glad you could make it, man.”

“Sherry is Princess Aroleine,” Cutler said, unfurling his hand to a short girl wearing a ruffled white dress and a sea-green t-shirt. “Chris is Prince Alabar.” She seemed to be about our age and had golden-brown hair; she was slightly pudgy, but that didn’t make her ugly. She held out her hand and like a gentleman, I leaned down as if to kiss it, nodding instead. Her hazel eyes watched me carefully. Cutler said, “She ranks high in the royal court,” and took me over to the next person.

Lew was sitting down which is why I hadn’t noticed him when I first came in. He stood up when we approached. He wore a black coat that looked like something a captain might wear, with gold stitching, and jeans. His hat was the same kind as Cutler’s. “Lew is Prince Viroch.”

“Lew?” I asked, surprised. He reached out his hand to mine and grasped it in a firm handshake.
“You two know each other?” Cutler asked.
I said, “Well, sorta.”
“Anyway, you are cousins,” Cutler explained.
“I will confer with you later,” Lew said. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if he meant in the game or in real life.

“Danny is Pageboy Johannas,” said Cutler, introducing me to a skinny boy with disheveled reddish-brown hair. “This is Chris, Prince Alabar.”
“Glad to meet ya, milord,” he said with a clumsy bow.
“He knows everything because he runs messages to everyone,” said Cutler.

He then led me back by the porch door. “And next-to-last, but not least is Tamara, the Viscountess Sarah Jane Mortishire,” he said, unfurling his hands to a pale girl with stringy blonde hair and distant blue eyes. “SJ, meet Chris, Prince Alabar.”

She had clipped felt stars and seashells into her hair, which had taken a greenish tint from too much time in the pool. Her sky-blue t-shirt read “Star In Training” in rhinestones and she wore new sandals, but neither of those distracted me from her royal manners and expression. I bowed to her and she looked pleased, as though I had already learned my place.

Then it hit me. “Wait,” I said, “If you and Jeff run this, how are you playing?”
Jeff stretched out and said, “Cutler and I set it up and create the cards and all that stuff.”

“We write it, too,” bragged Cutler, obviously exaggerating his contribution.

“You mean that we Help write it,” said Jeff.

“Yes, exactly!”

Jeff gave him an over-the-top look of madness. “Anyways,” he continued, “it’s more of an outline than a hard-and-fast kind of thing. Madame S is the GM.”

“Is that her real name?” I asked.

Just then a boisterous voice announced, “She’s here!” The porch door opened and a tall, tanned woman with a black straw hat with a bell, and a long linen off-white dress entered. She carried a sheaf of papers loosely attached to a clipboard in her hands.

Everyone but me shouted out “Madame S!” She made a ridiculously-deep curtsy and asked, “How are the inhabitants of Frammel this afternoon?” Everyone yelled back different responses. She then turned to Jeff and Cutler to work out the details of the game.

After a few moments, she said, “Ok, places. If you don’t remember where you were last week, speak up now.” I watched as everyone scattered and then I said, “I don’t remember.” She squinted at me and fixed me with a stare like a teacher’s. “You must be Chris, or Prince Alabar.”

“Yes,” and seeing her mock frown I added humorously, “Yes, milady.”

“Jeff and John have filled you in, I surmise?”

“Yes.”

She reached down into a nearby box and threw me a cloak. “But they didn’t give you any outfitting tips, or tell you where to start, of course.” She held her hand to her forehead, as if the occurrence would make her faint. She looked at her sheaf of notes and said, “Prince Alabar, the Endless Woods. There’s a sign by the front. You’re on your way to the castle, hearing only rumors of discontent. Your part will be coming in a few minutes.”

I nodded and went to my position.

Up until today, I had never played a LARP, but I knew enough about it to not be lost. It wasn’t too difficult to pretend to be someone else, although I did feel silly from time to time. Wearing a purple cloak that doesn’t quite fit will do that to you, I thought.

I had made my way to the castle fairly quickly where I met Princess Aroleine and the Viscountess. They were discussing something I didn’t catch before the pageboy ushered me into court. They spoke guardedly about the affairs at the castle, and said only that Prince Viroch was due to return from a great quest today.

The prince had known I was coming, and after the formalities that the court required, drew me aside to urge me to dine with him that evening. Because he was my cousin, and a cousin with whom I was on good terms, I saw no reason to refuse. I asked him about a lack of royal greeting and he too spoke in guarded tones, saying only that the rumors I had heard were only the beginning. The Princess had arranged for my living quarters, I had told him. He seemed genuinely afraid then, but a message he received from the pageboy required him to be elsewhere immediately.

By the end of an hour and half, I was thoroughly immersed in the game and my character had met most of the other characters. It felt like it was ending too early, but Madame S told us that if we were looking forward to what happens next, it meant that the game was a good one.

“So what do you think? Awesome huh?” asked Cutler. He was out-of-breath, having participated in a duel with Prince Viroch (which is something that I saw, but my character didn’t).

“It really felt like I was somewhere else,” I said. “Why is it only once a week?”

He laughed. “Madame S!” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, it’s the only day that she can do it. She has papers and stuff to grade. She’s the creative writing teacher at school.”

I was right — she was a teacher. Jeff called out, “Come on, Dr. Who starts in ten minutes!” Cutler said, “Oh yeah, we hang out afterwards and play video games and stuff.”

“Cool,” I said. I followed him into the house and found most of the others in the family room, before a large TV. The box of costumes was there and I tossed in the cape. Tamara was just leaving and Lew was folding up his jacket. He looked over at me with a serious expression, so I said, “Hold on, I gotta see something.”

I went to the door and he joined me. He didn’t say much, but he faked a smile. “Watch out for the popular girl,” he said. I asked him if he meant Tamara or Sherry, but he gave me a look that said I should have figured it out already. Then he left.

I went back to the family room a little uneasy. Thinking about it a few seconds more, I knew that he meant Tamara. Her character was snooty, but I had thought that was just her character, and not her. But even if she was that way in real life, I was only here for the summer. It wasn’t like she was in my school. What could she do?

I sat down and joined everyone in talking about the game. When they asked me about it, I said that it was great and I was looking forward to next week. For some reason Danny was giving whoever said “but” a high-five, so he was jumping all over the place. Then Dr. Who came on and Danny went with Jeff to play video games. The rest of us soaked up our weekly allowance of cheesy SF, and loved every minute of it.

During one of the commercials, Sherry said that Tamara couldn’t stop talking about the big party that her sister Brianne was going to throw over the summer. Her parents let her do it because their plans for a car had fallen through. “She said it’s going to be big even though officially it’s only for her sister’s friends. They even named it — the Anti-Boredom Crash.” Sherry twirled her finger, unexcitedly.

Cutler stretched out on the couch. “I’m going.”

“You would, J,” said Sherry.

“That’s right I would. Someone has to bring the geek.”

From the other room Jeff started chanting, “Bring the geek! Bring the geek!” Then Jeff and Sherry got Danny and lifted him above their heads like he was some kind of king and brought him to the center of the family room. Everyone joined in the chanting and either fanned him, fluffed his pillows, or fed him Cheetohs until the show started again.

I hadn’t forgotten about my pictures, so I told Cutler that I needed to get going. His mom overheard me; she said that she’d call her husband to pick them up on the way home. “Oh that’s ok,” I began, but she assured me that it was no problem. I didn’t want to put them through any trouble because I had just met them.

“Maybe he’s hiding something, like pictures of his girlfriend,” Madame S said, teasing me.

I laughed, suddenly realizing that I didn’t have any pictures of the people I’d met, not Uncle Kevin, not J, and not Kirandra. Maybe it showed on my face, because then Madame S said, “Ah hah!”

“Uhm, actually, I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said.

“Oh, a lot can change in a summer,” she said, mysteriously. Cutler’s mom agreed as if they shared a secret and then they promised to stop teasing me. I was grateful for that.

I played some video games and got killed a lot until Cutler’s dad showed up with my pictures, wrapped in discreet brown envelopes. I thanked him and said goodbye to everyone, getting on my bike, and making it home just in time for dinner.

Uncle Kevin tapped his watch. I knew from his smile that he was only faking being annoyed at me. “I’ve already ordered dinner,” he said. He pointed to a Donetello’s pizza magnet, a new addition to the fridge. “I thought I’d try the other pizza place for a change. We have one of their Everything in Italy specials on the way.”

I was so hungry that if he had ordered cookie dough I would have eaten it. I set the table and a few minutes later, the doorbell rang. “I’ve got it!” I called out, opening the door.

Standing in a dark red apron/overall combination was Danielle, with a pizza in one hand, and a bottle of Coke in the other. Her uniform was lightly dusted with dough, as if she had just stepped out of the kitchen.

“Hi,” she said, “Brain food for all the brains in residence.”

I smiled, a bit sarcastically. “It tastes great and it makes you smarter? Sounds like the perfect food,” I said.

“It is,” she said. “It’s amazing that some people don’t like it.”

Uncle Kevin walked over, showed his card, and paid for the food. “Danielle,” he said, eyeing her uniform in surprise, “they’ve got you doing deliveries now?”

“Not if I can help it,” she said, sighing slightly. “But they needed an extra driver and it was on my way home.” I felt suddenly envious that she could drive wherever she wanted to go.

“We certainly appreciate it,” he said, adding a generous tip.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, handing him the bottle of Coke. “Now this is on the house. The pizza looked so lonely.”

Uncle Kevin smiled. “Thanks! You can’t really have pizza without pop.”

“That’s right. Just don’t shake it up. Au revoire`!” she said as he shut the door.

As he put the plastic bottle on the table, Uncle Kevin thought out loud. “Do you think she already shook it up?”

“No way,” I said. Somehow, I couldn’t picture Danielle doing something like that. It would be like a TV comedy.

“Hmm,” he said, feeling the bottle and raising an eyebrow at me.

I squeezed the bottle, or tried to.

“You first,” he said, pulling his chair back.

I grimaced at him and turned the cap on the bottle slowly, listening to the gas escape.

I found a scribbled note attached to the fridge. We were going to a barbeque this evening at the Randall’s across the street. They had a bike that Uncle Kevin would talk to them about. “Great,” I said aloud, “except all that’s eight hours away.” The microwave clock seemed to mock me, with neon-red digits reading 9:05.

I spent most of the day just laying around watching TV and eating junk food. When dusk showed up, Uncle Kevin and I got ready and headed across the street to the Randall’s. We brought soda pop and a few bags of chips which I hadn’t touched the whole day. Of course, the skull-and-crossbone notes stuck to them had helped.

We all gathered in the Randall’s backyard, which was spacious without being gigantic, with a back patio to fit. Two tables and plenty of white lawn chairs were scattered across it. The cooker stood in the middle, giving off the delicious smell of barbeque. Someone had set up a game of croquet on the lawn, but there weren’t enough people to play yet.

The Randalls were an older couple, I’d guess in their fifties. They were retired and their children had grown up and moved away. I felt like they pressed me for too much information, but soon other people showed up and I got used to it as everyone else asked me the same questions. It soon dawned on me that there wasn’t anyone there my age. Two couples were in their thirties, another couple around Uncle Kevin’s age brought their eight-year-olds, and Mr. Gene showed up with his walking stick. I played croquet with the eight-year-olds and their parents until the barbeque was ready. Then it was every man for himself, because the aroma of barbeque had made us all hungry.

The chips went really well with the barbeque. They had all kinds of different sauces, but I stayed away from the stuff marked with three x’s. I had just polished off my third plate and was on my way for a fourth when I bumped into a tall blonde girl. She turned to look over her shoulder and said, “Watch it, bub.” Her voice was playful and yet reprimanding. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning to look at her. “I was looking at the food.”

She stood slightly taller than me and was dressed in off-white cotton pants that tied at her ankles, an artsy checkboard top with a name scrawled in red cursive across that I didn’t dare spend much time looking at to figure out what it said. Her blonde hair was feathered and hung down slightly over one of her eyes. Her eyes were sky-blue and I knew, instantly, that she was older than me, smart, and probably in college.

She thought for a moment and then said, “Why? The food’s not that great-looking.” Her voice had this kind of unserious, sly tone to it.

I grinned as I filled my plate. “Ok, you win. The food isn’t supermodel material, but it sure tastes good.” I went to stand away from the cooker and a moment later, she joined me. “So who are you?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

I reached out a hand and then thought better of it. “I’m Chris. Kevin Blythe is my uncle, erm, my cousin. I’m here for the summer.”

She looked down at her hand and thought better of it, too. “I’m Danielle. Danielle Carter. Freshman at Kent State. Nice to meet you.”

I felt a little awed by her, somehow, so I didn’t want to admit I was only a junior. I made a joke out of it instead. “I’m in MacPherson High. Junior. Out-of-state.” Brian’s dad was a college professor back home, so I knew something about all the lingo.

She smiled. “So what do you think of my alma mater?” she asked, unfolding her hands and spreading them wide. “Pretty small, huh?”

“It is smaller than where I’m from,” I said, “but I like it so far.” She was smirking, so I added, “I guess it would be different if I grew up here, though.”

“Uh huh. It is.”

“So is there anything to do around here?”

She stood on her tiptoes for a moment. “You mean besides the library? Not really.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being completely sarcastic on that one, so I decided to find out. “That’s not much. I bet the university library blows it away, though.”

“It does, actually. It’s five stories tall, holds over thirteen-thousand books, and has one of the only remaining copies of — hey, are you laughing at me?”

I blinked, dumbfounded. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Then it hit me — maybe she was pushing me. Still, all I could manage was, “Uhm. No. Actually that’s pretty cool.”

“Mmhmm. You bet it is. I have a part-time job there during school.”

“And in the summer you go to backyard barbeques?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, for the main event I throw pizza dough.”

Then I laughed. “Really? That doesn’t sound intellectual at all.”

“It’s not.” She sighed. “But it pays for college and sometimes I like to rest my brain. I don’t want to burn it out, you know. I might end up like Old Man Simmons.”

I nodded.

“Frankie’s?” I asked. She shook her head.

“The other pizza place — Donatello’s.”

“I haven’t been there yet,” I said. “I’ll have to check it out.”

“You should,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips. “Even though it’s not intellectual.”

I was about to ask her why she thought I was intellectual when Uncle Kevin showed up with the Randalls. A strange uncomfortable silence fell over us all. Danielle looked aggressively bored. Uncle Kevin cleared his throat and said at last, “So everyone under thirty found each other, huh?”

“It wasn’t too hard,” I said, smiling, and trying to lighten the mood.

“True,” said Danielle, with an edge in her voice.

Mr. Randall shifted his warm grey eyes over to me. “Let’s go see that bike.”

Somehow, at that moment, having a bike didn’t seem as cool as it did just an hour before. “Sure,” I said, half-heartedly. By the time we had reached the garage, I was able to collect my thoughts. Was I trying to impress her or something? We were both smart and probably didn’t fit in, but she only talked to me because I was the only person there close to her age. So what did that mean? I took a deep breath. It meant nothing at all.

The bike was a dusty, dirty mountain bike that had belonged to a family friend a few years ago. The bike still worked and most importantly, it wasn’t pink, but black. Mr. Randall offered to let me borrow it for the summer and I agreed without hesitation. After that, we went home for the evening.

* * * * *

Monday’s job was cleaning out the gutters. Uncle Kevin had this weird hook-like tool that was part of a collapsible pole. The hook was an attachment, and there was also a brush, but he had lost the other one. I climbed out the second story windows and sat on the gables, raking out the leaves, pine needles, and the congested crud that had accumulated in the gutters. I wondered when he had last cleaned these? Ten years ago? That job took most of the morning and part of the afternoon.

I also had this long flexible metal wire-like tool that was called a “snake”. Uncle Kevin had told me to thread it up the drainpipes to make sure that they were clear. That took almost an hour because I kept running into things like pinecones and twigs that had been crushed together. But I kept at it and by three, I was done — and exhausted.

Work seemed to pass fairly quickly because I was thinking about Sunday and anticipating checking out Tarrant again on my bike. Sunday was felt like a dream. I hadn’t been to church since last Christmas and it seemed like that was more about Christmas than about church. I didn’t know any of the songs or any of the phrases I was supposed to say, but I did recognize a few people from the barbeque yesterday. Kira and Cutler weren’t there, though. The sermon was interesting. I didn’t agree with everything, but I felt like I was on the edge of something something bigger than myself, something good, really important — and then it was time to go. Most people didn’t look like they had got it and that made me wonder why they went; but some people seemed to shine. I felt small and didn’t think that anyone would understand what I felt. Uncle Kevin didn’t talk much about it, either. I thought a little bit more and somehow I knew that Kira would definitely understand it.

After lunch, I had gone to explore the town. Uncle Kevin told me that most of the stores would be closed on Sunday, but I didn’t mind that (except for the camera store). When we had gone to TOGAC, he took a right from the driveway down to Main Street, and most of the traffic seemed to go that way, too, so I followed suit. Main Street was a wide, two-lane street with a handful of cars every minute or so. Tall oak trees hung over the sidewalks on both sides which gave me plenty of shade, a good thing at one o’clock in the summer. Between the trees other roads branched upwards past old, elegant houses. I took a right and headed into town.

It didn’t take me long to notice the first sign of business — a side-street that led to several warehouses. A small marquee close to the ground listed the businesses, and sure enough, there was Kira’s: Old World Antiques warehouse. I kept pedalling and passed a church on my right with a high white steeple, and then after that, a Hyvee grocery store.

The road split like a claw, into three roads, with one going right, one straight and one diagonally between the two. I went down the diagonal road and found Edwards Photo Hut, closed of course. The store looked like it been built in the 50’s and then remodeled to look even more like a store from back then. The outside walls were painted alternating white and light stripes; double-glass doors opened from the front, and a low flat roof jutted out over the edges of the walls. A simple sign that looked like an old billboard sat on the roof, shouting “Edwards Photo Hut!” There was a drive-through on the side near me, but the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t really see anything inside. Strangely, I felt like I was being watched, so I got back on the bike and kept going.

It turned out that everything in Tarrant was close to everything else. Once I reached the end of the diagonal road, I was downtown. Within a few blocks, I found Frankie’s, city hall, the library, a McDonald’s, the sub shop, and a few unusual stores, a candle shop, a used book store that specialized in military history, and Kira’s antique shop. Its windows were wide like the other stores and I could see all sorts of things inside — even the astrolabe. On the next block over, I found a dark red wooden building with Italian cursive script arching over the door: Donatello’s, the pizza place where Danielle worked.

I cycled back and took a break in the park at the center of town. It was orderly, with stone pathways from each cardinal direction leading through a ring of shrubs, then flowers, and then at the center, simple grass. A few feet from the grasses in the absolute center of the park stood a covered stone pavillion, which housed a lifelike statue of Anthony Tarrant, the town’s founder. A small plaque talked about his role in as an early American mapmaker.

Down the other direction were the elementary/junior high and the high school. Another road sign indicated that Cranston was that way as well. I went just far enough to find the bowling alley and a laundromat, and then I headed back to the town square.

Sitting in the shade of the pavillion, I watched the clouds skate by, covering me with passing shade. I had just explored my own new world and had a mental map of all the places I had only heard of. I couldn’t wait to explore them all. It was getting close to dusk, though, so I decided to go on home. Where was that lake that Kira was talking about, though? I’d ask her about it next time we met.

That was yesterday, and yesterday I decided where I would explore first. I was going to go back to town and get my photos developed. I left a note for Uncle Kevin, picked up the film cannisters, and headed to town.

There was a little more traffic today than yesterday, so I had to pay attention to the stoplights this time. In a few minutes, I was at Edward’s Photo Hut. An “Open” sign was hung diagonally across the door along with a set of tiny bells, so I was in luck.

Inside, it was like the camera shop at the mall, only with a better selection and funky 50’s pictures (of telephone booths crammed with people, space-age cars, and women with tall hairdos) between the displays. They carried a good selection of 35 mm cameras along with the newer digital cameras, printers, and the usual accessories. The lenses and cameras were displayed on grey carpet with spotlights mounted beneath them and track lighting above so you could get a good look at everything. A door led to a darkroom that you could rent by the hour and the mirror in the bathroom was framed by a smiling guy taking a photo of you. It was a funky, but cool place.

In the back a single cash register sat atop a glass display case, and a guy about my own age leaned forward over it. He had black hair like a mop, black-rimmed glasses, seemed to be both laid-back and methodical. He flipped through a photography magazine, analyzing each page, and yet had greeted me when I came in and followed me with his eyes ever since.

I spent a few minutes looking around and then I noticed a sign for developing film and the prices. I felt like my wallet instantly shrunk. That was half of the money mom gave me for the summer! I was about to ask him about the prices when he asked, “You’re Chris, right?”

“Right.” I looked at him closely. No, he wasn’t familiar at all. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jeff. I do LARP with Cutler.”

“Oh ok. I was wondering how you knew me.”

“He told me he’d invited you and what you look like. Do you know who you’re going to play?” He asked, laying aside the magazine.

“No,” I admitted. “Cutler hasn’t told me a whole lot about it yet.”

“Typical J. He never plans.” He shook his head to move some strands of hair out of his eyes. “J and I run it together, so we were thinking you could be one of the princes, distantly related to the current king.” He then told me the whole backstory of the game, which involved court intrigue and diplomacy with foreign nations as well as ocassional large-scale battles. The king had vanished and succession to the throne was up in the air. It sounded fine to me; as long as my character wasn’t the comic relief, I was ok with it.

I asked him to develop my film and handed over two rolls along with half the money in my wallet. He gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you ok? It looks like you have money separation anxiety.”

I grinned. “It was a little more than I’m used to.”

“Yeah,” he said, “sometimes things are a little more expensive out here in the sticks.”

He said that it’d be ready by Wednesday afternoon; before I went I asked him if anyone was here yesterday. I said that I stopped by when I was looking around town and felt like someone was watching me.

He arched his eyebrow and said quietly, “That’s strange.”

“Yeah. It was really strange.”

He didn’t say anything else, and I got the feeling like he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, so I just waved by and said I’d see him Wednesday.

“Thanks! Come again!” he said in a loud, businesslike voice.

The door shut behind me with the jingle of little bells. Now I had two reasons to look forward to Wednesday!

So far, just about anything had happened. In three days, I had gone to see my uncle, halfway across the country, found out that I’d be working most of the summer, met Kirandra, her mom, Shira, Culter and Steve, gone to see TOGAC, and had taken tons of pictures. I ate some cereal, a little overwhelmed by it all.

Today was sweeping the driveway, mopping the floors, and vacuuming. It was easy and boring, but hard to mess up. It gave me some time to think and I started wondering what would happen next. Would Kirandra come by today? How about Culter? Why did I have to wait for them, anyways? I needed a bike, or a moped, or something. I wanted to see more of Tarrant and I needed to get the film in my camera developed, too.

As I mopped the hall, I realized that part of the reason I came here had turned out completely opposite of what I had expected. I had thought of Uncle Kevin’s as a way to give my parents the time that they needed, but also as a place to get away from it all. But I wasn’t just relaxing all by myself; I was slowly becoming a part of something else, even if it was just for a little while. That seemed strange — being part of something that was temporary? I shook my head and focused back on the vacuuming.

* * * * *

I was just finishing up dusting when three quick knocks came from the front door. I didn’t know much about dusting and it must have shown. When I opened the door, Kirandra was holding a strange adjustable disc and staring at me with curious eyes.

“What happened?” she asked.

I looked down at the dust blotches on my clothes and colored. “Uhm. Well nothing much. I’ve been dusting.”

“Oh. I think you need special clothes for that.”

I laughed. “I don’t think an apron is my style.” On a sudden impulse, I added, “Maybe a cowboy hat would work better.”

She grinned and then reached out and tapped me on the arm. A small cloud of dust escaped into the air.

“Guess I need to get cleaned up. You want to come in?”

She nodded and took a look around the kitchen with the piles of paper everywhere as I went upstairs to do something about my clothes. When I came back down, she said, “Your uncle doesn’t cook much does he?”

I sighed. “What gave it away?”

“The refrigerator.” She pointed to all the magnets from all the pizza, fast food, delivery, and drive-thru restaurants in town. I guess that would do it, wouldn’t it?

“I haven’t had ordinary food since I got here,” I admitted. “It’s not bad, don’t get me wrong, but…” I let the sentence trail off, shrugging.

Kirandra said, “Maybe you can come for dinner.” I was speechless for a moment, caught between surprise and that glowing feeling that I had felt before. She offered, “Mom always makes extra when Uncle Thomas is in town.”

I found my voice. “Sounds great. Let me leave a note.”

The rumble of a diesel engine came in through the front door, announcing the fact that Uncle Kevin had arrived. I told him of my plans for the evening when he walked in. He told me that I couldn’t go.

“Why not?” I asked, more surprised than defiant.

Uncle Kevin looked from me to Kirandra. “Could you excuse us a minute?”

She nodded and went to wait outside on the porch. “I thought mom said I should be eating healthier,” I reminded him.

He scratched his stubble. “Ok, but after this we need to talk. Be back by eleven.”

“Ok,” I said and joined Kirandra on her way home.

We walked in silence for what felt like an eternity. It seemed like we both felt the same kind of frustration with adults, but didn’t know how to say it. The fading sun glinted off what she was carrying, and so I asked her about it.

“It’s an astrolabe,” she said. “Brass and steel. Made in Cordoba, Spain, in sixteen ninety-five. Sailors used it to measure the position of stars and planets to help them figure out their location at sea.”

“How does it work?” I asked.

She held it up to her eye in one fluid motion, adjusted the outside circle, which had markings along the side.

“Wow,” I said. “Looks like you practiced.”

“I did,” she said proudly. She added quietly, “It’s embarrassing when customers ask you about antiques and you don’t know anything about them.”

I hadn’t thought about that before. It struck me again how strange it was that her parents trusted her to carry these things home.

“I always thought antiques were too expensive to just carry around like this,” I said.

“If you don’t want to ride in the car, you have to carry something home and help with the bookkeeping,” she explained, quoting her mom. “It gets pretty crowded in the van and sometimes I like being alone.” She gave me a curious half-smile and quickly turned away.

I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but back home, Brian had told me the same kind of thing. Sometimes you just wanted to get away. In another minute or so, we were at her house.

“I’m home! Chris came!” she announced, opening the unlocked front door.

Inside, the house looked to be about the same age as my uncle’s house. The color of light brown wood seemed to be everywhere, from the floors to the stairs to the doors, making the house seem natural, like it had all been carved from one giant block of wood. To our right, a staircase lead up to the second floor. I saw a tall figure near the top descend a few stairs, hesitate, and then retrace its steps. I was about to ask Kirandra who that was when we reached the kitchen.

The kitchen was crazily busy. Kirandra’s mom seemed to be doing ten things at once, from checking the temperature of the chicken to pulling rolls out of the oven, to stirring a vegetable medley, to dispatching Shy. Shy ran around, a blur of blonde hair, doing whatever her mom needed done. Most of those things didn’t involve the food directly, I noticed. Drawers were open, revealing all kinds of cutlery as well as several cabinet doors, half-hiding bowls and plates. Shy was busy running back and forth from the dining room just to the right and the kitchen, setting the table.

After we all said hello, Shy giggling, and Kirandra frowning at her, Kirandra asked, “Where’s Uncle Thomas?” she asked.

“Out on the back porch, star gazing,” replied her mom.

“Boring!” added Shy.

“Ok. I’ll be right back,” she told me, and opened a door at the far end of the room and made her way downstairs.

Watching all the cooking activity made me feel a bit out of place, so I offered to help. “No, don’t be silly,” her mom told me. “You’re a guest. Now regular guests…” she said, smiling at me. I laughed, kind of nervously.

It didn’t take long for Kirandra and her dad to finish business in the basement. In a minute or two, they were upstairs and helped finish up the preparations for dinner.

“There,” said Kirandra’s mom, turning off the oven and shutting the microwave door with a resounding bam-click. Kirandra, her dad, and Shy applauded and she bowed. I could see where Shy got it from, I thought. “Shy, do the honors, please.” Shy ran to the far end of the dining room, where tall double-doors set with tall wood-latticed windows opened on to the back porch. She opened one and pulled Uncle Thomas inside. Then she ran out of the kitchen and upstairs.

Uncle Thomas was a large man who looked about the size of a football player, although he was just big, not muscular. He seemed vaguely Italian with a black curly hair and a ready grin. He wore a vest that had no hope of reaching across his stomach, over a purple-velvet shirt. His dark eyes twinkled and I thought that he was probably one of those guys who could play Santa Claus and the kids would love him.

At first I thought that he might hug me and I didn’t know if I could survive a bear hug, but he just shook my hand. Shy got back and following her was a tall teenage guy who wore glasses and wore a dour expression on his face. I didn’t get the feeling that he was unhappy to see me, just that he was usually that way.

“Lew, Kirandra’s friend Chris is here for supper,” said Kirandra’s mom. Lew looked over at me and muttered a “hi”. “Hi,” I said back, and that was the end of the conversation. Kirandra’s mom and dad looked at each other and then we all sat down, said the blessing, and began eating.

Dinner was kind of like eating in the school cafeteria with my friends, not the quiet and serious dinners I had with my family. I really didn’t know what to expect, but when I looked back on it later, it really only made sense. Everyone had table manners but that didn’t stop them from teasing each other or telling jokes. You didn’t chew with your mouth open, but it was OK to stick your tongue out at someone. I just went with the flow and tried not to stick out too much.

I had to answer a lot of questions about myself, which I figured was coming, so I was ready for that. The rest of the conversations ranged all over the map from how the family business was doing, to where Uncle Thomas had been, to who was going to clean up the garage tomorrow.

Out of the blue, Shy announced in a sing-songy tone, “I know what’s in the satchel.”

Uncle Thomas was in the middle of lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth. Shy crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly. He smiled and kept eating.

“I know what’s inside,” she said, “and why he’s never shown anyone.”

“Really?” asked Uncle Thomas, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “In that case, you should tell. I’m afraid that the jig is up.” He grinned ear to ear.

Shy took a deep breath and announced, “Nasty mags!”

It was like she had sucked every sound out of the room with those words. Every eye was on her and she swelled up with pride.

Lew put down his fork and said, “What do you mean by ‘nasty mags’?”

Shy stared at him angrily. “You know what I mean!” Lew looked over at Kirandra.

Kirandra added, “No, we don’t. Nasty like squished frogs?”

“Yes!” replied Shira.

“Nasty like toilet bowls?” asked Lew.

“Yes!”

“Nasty like your room?” asked her mom.

“Yes! I mean — hey!”

Everyone broke out in laughter and Shy turned red-faced in an instant. “You’re so mean!” she said, to no-one in particular.

Dinner finished up and I made sure to compliment her mom on the cooking. I did enjoy it and it was the polite thing to do, I thought. Everyone helped clean off the table except for her mom, so she didn’t have to worry about putting anything away. I had talked about photography a little bit and Kirandra said that could come in handy in their business. I agreed, thinking that they could set up a web site or advertise on line if they wanted to.

Then her dad mentioned that she had some chores to finish up around the house. She didn’t argue but agreed a little reluctantly.

On my way home, I did a lot of thinking. Their home life was definitely more than I was used to, with six people talking and all the different personalities. They did seem a little weird, with art being everywhere, but it was a kind of weird I liked. I guess it made them stand out a bit. Kirandra and I hadn’t talked much besides at dinner, but I did say that I’d stop by tomorrow. Did I even have tomorrow off? Wouldn’t that be funny, I thought wryly, if I didn’t?

There weren’t too many streetlights along the sidewalk back to Uncle Kevin’s house, and so the darkness up above and the stars shone through. Being in a strange town wasn’t so different from being a sailor out of sight of land, I thought. I lifted my hands to the sky and made a circle like the astrolabe that Kirandra carried home. Pretending to adjust it a bit, I brought the Big Dipper into focus.

* * * * *

The next morning Uncle Kevin whipped up breakfast, which was a change for the better. It turned out that he could actually cook, at least if cooking bacon, eggs, and toast was real cooking. He assured me that it counted; I had my doubts.

I asked him about it and he said, “When I talked to your mom, she was concerned that you weren’t eating right.”

I nodded. “That sounds like my mom.”

“She was nicer than that, but that was the point. She also thought that I let you run wild.” He sat down and buttered his toast.

“Really?”

“I told her that I didn’t, but when she asked about curfews, I really didn’t have an answer. So I thought we should work out the details.”

“Fair enough,” I said, hoping that things wouldn’t become too draconian. I didn’t think they would, but I didn’t know what his limits were, nor what buttons of his my mom could push. She could be sneaky when she wanted to be.

“Ok, you get Saturday and Sunday off, and just work down the list at an easy pace. There’s no deadlines or anything like that. If you want to take half a day, let me know first.”

“Sounds good,” I said between mouthfuls of eggs.

“You can go anywhere in town; outside of town, ask first.”

“Ok.”

“Curfew is midnight. And oh yeah, church on Sundays.”

I had forgotten about that last one. It was something that I did whenever I visited, but I never really thought about it until I was there. Summer days, sunlight streaming in through the windows, and an old-fashioned church with a balcony overlooking the pews below popped into my mind. I didn’t remember too much about what was said, but I did remember the fancy clothes and a sense of belonging. My family went to church a few times a year and it was like a ritual more than something emotional.

“Ok, sounds fine,” I said. I had come out pretty good, with no major roadblocks — wait. How was I going to get around? Kirandra’s house wasn’t too far, but it was still a few minutes away just walking.

I asked him about that and he said that the neighbors across the street, the Randalls, probably had an old one that I could use. I hoped that it wasn’t pink.

The rest of the morning I just lazed around and watched cartoons. Kirandra said to drop by after lunch. She said that her and Cutler usually hung out and he’d probably stop by sooner or later. It still caught me off guard when I was half-way there, Cutler came roaring by on his bike.

He slammed on the brakes and spun the a quarter circle so that it blocked my path. He looked relieved, rather than assured. “Whoa, it worked this time! Hey Chris. Where are you going?”

He wore the same cap he did the other day, but today had on a black t-shirt divided into four quadrants, each showing a line or two of code. Written above them all were words in white — “The World’s Shortest Program”. Glancing at one of the quadrants which read, “10: Goto 10″, I knew it was the truth.

“I’m going to the evil almost-goth girl’s house,” I said with a grin.

He pretended to be shocked, but then furrowed his brow. “It’s too late, then. She has you in her clutches!”

“Yes,” I said. “This is my last week on earth, I’m sure of it.”

Cutler laughed and we talked about computers until we got to Kirandra’s house. She came out and we moved to under a large tree that gave a lot of shade.

I found out that no-one had their learner’s permit yet, so we had to use bikes or walk. Having someone else take us was too much of a pain and could be embarrassing besides. Just then, we heard two car doors slam, one right after the other.

“Are your folks going somewhere?” asked Cutler, looking at Kirandra.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Kirandra. “Maybe it was the next house over.”

We resumed talking and Cutler interrupted again. “Hey Kira, your van is moving.”

We looked over. The van rolled back a few feet and then stopped. Kirandra shrugged. “Maybe my dad is moving the van. He does that sometimes.”

I knew my folks always started the car when they moved it, but her driveway did have a slight incline, so maybe they didn’t need to.

We had only barely started talking when Cutler interrupted for the third time. “Kira, your van is moving down the street.”

The look in her eyes was something between, “Why are you obsessed with my van?” and “Uh oh”. We all turned to look and it was true. What’s worse was that it looked like no-one was driving it.

Kirandra said, “This is bad.” Then in a louder voice, she yelled out, “Shy!” We all took off after the van as it picked up speed rolling down the street. One of the side doors opened and a short girl in brown pigtails rolled out, catching her breath.

“Merry?” asked Kirandra. “Are you ok?” The little girl was shaking her head “yes”, then “no” and then kept saying, “It was going too fast,” over and over. Kirandra sat her down on the curb. Cutler and I took back off after the van. We had just about reached it when it reached a streetlamp. A low “thud” followed by an “Ow!” reached our ears when Kirandra caught back up to us. Not knowing what else to do, I examined the van where it hit the streetlamp. The front bumper was dented pretty badly.

Kirandra opened the driver’s side door and found a confused Shy looking back at her. “It doesn’t work the same,” she said. “It’s all Merry’s fault! When she left, I couldn’t do the brakes anymore!” Kirandra pulled her sister out of the van, taking her arm in a death grip.

“You’re not hurt?” she asked Shy. Shy shook her head.

“It’s not bad,” I said. “Just the front bumper.” Everyone looked relieved.

Kirandra turned her attention back to Shy, with a fierce gaze. “Why did you do it?”

Shy immediately sensed that she was in trouble. “Lew said I could!”

“Ok,” said Kirandra quietly. “Get in the passenger’s seat.” Kirandra followed her in and took the wheel. Cutler and I pushed the car backwards and after a bit of trial and error, we got the car turned around and back up the street. A minute or so after that, we had it back in the driveway, although facing the other way from before. Kirandra put on the emergency brake, Cutler flexed his muscles, and I just laughed.

Lew was standing on the front porch, his face ashy-white. Kirandra was marching Shy up the steps when her gaze met his. “I thought they would keep it in the driveway.” Kirandra looked at him, pushed Shy inside and a few minutes later, returned.

“How long?” asked Cutler. Kirandra seemed to snap out of her worried look and said, surprised, “How long what?”

“Cutler thinks Shy will be grounded for two weeks. I thought one month,” I offered, with a smile.

She held up a hand with four fingers outstretched. “Four months?” asked Cutler, shocked.

Kirandra bopped him on the head. “Four weeks, geek-boy.”

“Cool,” I said, and then added quickly, “Well not for her, I mean.”

Cutler replied, “Ok then, almost-goth girl.”

We eventually got back around to what we were talking about before. “So what is there to do here?” I asked.

“There’s a few lakes for fishing, bowling, a movie theatre –” begun Kirandra.

“Most places you can get to on your bike,” said Cutler, “but some places, like the rock formations are pretty far. We also have RPGS,” said Cutler. “You know, role-playing games.” He wriggled his eyebrows mysteriously.

“I know. Brian back home plays a few.”

“Then there’s the Apple festival in Cranston, the next town over. That’s the end of the month,” said Kirandra.

I thought about everything they said. The rock formations sounded pretty interesting, but too far away for now. I wanted to see what was nearby first. “I’ve never been fishing,” I said.

“You’re not even that good of a fisherman,” replied Cutler. She hit him again.

“Anyways, what do you know about LARPing?” Cutler asked me.

“Well, not much besides what it stands for,” I said.

“Impressive!” he said. “You want to do some? We’ve got a regular thing going.”

“When is it?”

“After lunch, Wednesday.”

“What about your uncle?” asked Kirandra.

“I’m going to get some time off,” I replied.

Kirandra looked at me sympathetically. Cutler rolled his eyes. I knew he thought my uncle was way too strict. I didn’t feel that he was, but maybe he was compared to Cutler’s folks.

If today was any sign, the week ahead would be interesting. I was looking forward to it, even if doing so meant being part of something that wouldn’t last.

“So did you meet Kirandra?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, quickly following up with, “You were right. She is different.”

If he could hear my mixed emotions, he didn’t say anything. I asked him, “Have you heard of a guy called John Cutler?”

He wadded up a hamburger wrapper and threw it in the wastebasket. “Let’s see. There’s a Cutler — not sure if he’s John or not — but he lives on the edge of town. People say he makes moonshine. Probably not him.” I rolled my eyes.

“Then there’s a John Cutler who lives up on 23rd street. He has a son named John too. John junior.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling embarrased for the guy, but also thinking I could kid him about it.

He nodded and then asked if I was going to eat the last hamburger.

* * *

Another day, another bowl of cereal for breakfast, and another item on the list. At least this one would be easy. The front yard looked as though Uncle Kevin mowed it at least a few times a month.

While I was putting the milk back, I noticed a note on the fridge. “I’ll show you the shop this afternoon — K.” I’d never seen where he worked, so I thought it at least would be something different. I’d have to bring my camera along.

I got the front yard done in no time and was looking around for a snack when the phone rang. It had been a few days, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was my folks. It was.

“Hi, this is the Blythe’s residence. Chris speaking.”

“Chris?” asked my mom.

“Yeah. Hi mom.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like someone had just been stabbed. She spoke first.

“So how is it up there? Is Kevin keeping you busy?” She seemed slightly nervous.

I wanted to say so many different things, but somehow I couldn’t make my mouth say them. “It’s fine. He has a list and stuff, so I’m working on that.”

She laughed.

“He’s such a penny-pincher. Are you eating alright?”

It was my turn to laugh. “It’s bachelor food, but it’s not bad.”

She sighed. “I’ll need to talk to him about that. I can’t control how he eats, but he does have guests.” It would be interesting to see how that conversation turned out. Maybe we’d pick up fried chicken and get watermelon from a roadside stand.

“Anyhow, I just wanted to call and see how you were doing.”

“Things are fine. How are things down there?” I asked.

“Better.”

“Good.”

“But not because you’re not here,” she added. “I guess sometimes you can lose sight of something when it’s in front of you all the time.”

Dad and I didn’t talk much, so most of what I heard was from my mom. I didn’t mind, but this was one of those times when I’d like to know what my dad was thinking.

“I know what you mean,” I said, though I didn’t exactly. I had given up on “happily ever after” at my sixth birthday party. That’s when I knew that getting married — and girls — didn’t lead to a bed of roses. Still some part of me thought that it should be easier than they had it.

“Well I’m glad you’re alright. I’ll call back later tonight and talk to Kevin for a little bit. Let him know, ok?”

“Ok, mom, I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And then she was gone. I hung up the phone and stood in front of the door for a few moments, the screen door the only barrier between me and the outside world. Here I was, half a world away, talking to my parents as though I were a cousin or someone far removed from their life, all general concepts or wrapping dangerous ones in bubble-wrap. I felt insulated, numb, like the whole conversation had never happened except for one tiny spot of warmth: she had said things were better.

* * * * *

It was around three that Uncle Kevin pulled up in the driveway. I had been looking around the house and taking pictures from weird angles, just to see what would come out. He drove a ruby pickup truck with the extended cab, still new and sparkly, though mud was starting to climb higher and higher from the wheelwells. “Chris! Chris, c’mon.”

I joined him in the truck and in fifteen minutes, we were at the main gas plant. It was a complex up a dirt road a little ways outside of town, on a small hill and surrounded by trees. A low white building with three white pickup trucks soon came into view, while various other cars sat in the lot. Beyond the building was a fenced-in one-room station with various signs hanging on the fence.

The white building was the hub of the Tarrant Oil and Gas Company, the official name of what Uncle Kevin referred to as “TOGAC”. Computers monitored the inflow of gas from the fenced-in station (the gateway), and at various points around town. You could control the pressure in the lines from this computer, or from three others around the station. The big office of course, belonged to my uncle, and there he kept track of new construction, plans for pipelines, employee pay, and all sorts of other business stuff. It didn’t look too different from his house, with the stacks of paper everywhere and a cordless phone peeking up from beneath it all. “So how does this all work?” I asked him.

“Well, I handle the high-level stuff,” he said. “City council meetings, construction, hiring, firing. Janice is our operator.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the office nearby. “If someone has a gas leak or a problem with their line, they call us and we’ll send someone out to take care of it. So the guys are either out on call or reading meters to see how many cf the unit is using. The gateway, that station up the hill, is where all of our gas comes in from. There we add the odor to the gas and bring it down to a pressure that our lines can handle. There’s also storage tanks on the other side of town that we can store excess gas or pull from in case we need more, and then there’s the shared line with Cranston.” He rolled his eyes.

“Shared line? How does that work?” I asked, expecting a sarcastic rejoinder. He didn’t let me down.

“Here’s how it works: Cranston gets all the gas and freaks out when we ask for some. There’s not much sharing going on.”

Just then, there was a knock on his office door. A guy with an upside-down U moustache and a frustrated expression on his face barged in. “We got a problem, boss.”

Uncle Kevin looked up at him. “Can’t it wait, Steve?”

Steve shook his head. “Sorry, man. Brian left because he was hurling chunks, so he didn’t get around to the meters on the east side. Jonas is off, and no-one else can swing it.”

“Great.” Uncle Kevin looked like someone had just stolen his wallet.

“I just stopped in to pick up some tools. Customer over at four-one-five is complaining again. I think there’s a kink in his pipe, so I’m checking that out.”

“Ok, thanks. I’ll take Brian’s route.”

Steve touched the brim of his cap with two fingers and left. Uncle Kevin looked at me. “Are you up for a ride-along?”

“Sure, why not?”

We hopped back in his pickup and proceeded to read the meters on the east side of Tarrant. The route covered an area from the lake almost to his house. I snapped lots of pictures, some of meters, but mostly of houses, that afternoon. As the day wound up, we swung by Kiranda’s house. As usual, Uncle Kevin went to the front door and announced himself. I felt a little nervous going to the front door, but I knew I would have felt dumb sitting in the pickup.

Close up, the house looked even more interesting than it had last night. Its front porch had four pillars that reached the second floor, and each pillar was different: one mermaid, one Roman soldier, one priest, and one snake. The latticework beneath the porch curved as it wove around itself, looking like waves if you looked at it too long. The house was painted in a light yellowish brown that looked like natural wood. Two antique lamps as tall as the door stood on either side, along with the usual swinging bench at one end.

My uncle knocked quick three times on the door and when it swung open, launched into his standard greeting, “Hi, I’m with TOGAC, the Tarrant — ” but what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Kiranda stood there with bright pink bubble gum wound through her hair. She looked from Uncle Kevin to me and said, “Erm. Oh.” She shut the door and came back with a huge cowboy hat on. As if nothing had happened, she continued, “You’re here to read the meter, right?”

Uncle Kevin nodded. “It won’t take us long. We’ll be by the side of the house.” He turned and went down the steps. I didn’t expect to see her like this, so I had to say something. I looked at her cock-eyed and smiled. “I think you need cowboy boots for the hat.”

“It’s all Shy’s fault,” she said. “She’s mad that I cracked the top ten on Rad Racer Four.”

“Really? Why?”

“Oh, it’s HER game,” Kiranda sniffed. “She had the top ten spots, and then I took one.”

“Sounds like she’s super-competative, unless there’s more to it.”

Kiranda sighed and grinned. “I did write my name in as ‘Shy is Super Short’.'”

“Oh. That’d do it,” I said, smiling back. I was surprised that she competed with her sister like that. It didn’t fit my first impression of her at all.

“I’ll get my revenge, though,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Just then a short blonde girl whose head barely reached Kiranda’s arms stole into the doorway and pulled the hat from her head. “He, he, he,” she said, talking a hundred miles an hour in a high-pitched voice, “I colored her hair with bubble gum! He, he, he.”

Kiranda looked down sideways and grimaced. “And this is my sister, Shira.”

“Am not!” She looked over at me and crossed her arms. “I’m Shy, and I’m not related to that one.” She stood on her toes and flounced her hands in Kiranda’s direction as if she were royalty, and her older sister, a mere peasant. “I’m posh!”

Kiranda sighed. “Britcoms,” she explained.

“So who are you?” asked Shy, stealing forward and eyeing me like a pirate. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“I’m Chris,” I said. “Kevin is my older cousin and I’m up here for the summer. You’ve never seen me before because I’ve never been here before.”

Shy thought about that for a second and decided that it made sense. Kiranda stole the hat back and Shy stuck out her tongue at her.

“Kira’s already got a boyfriend, you know.”

Kiranda rolled her eyes. “I do NOT.”

“Yuh huh. Yes you do. John Cutler–”

Kiranda put her hand over Shy’s mouth. That didn’t slow her little sister down, who kept talking, rapid-fire, although the only sounds that came out now were mumbles.

“Shira, Shh!” Shy stopped talking for a second and looked up at her sister. Her cheeks red in embarassment, she leaned forward and bit one of Kiranda’s fingers.

“Ow!” Kiranda whipped around with her other hand, aiming for Shy’s cheek, but her sister had escaped into the house. She turned around to give chase and collided with her mom.

“Kira, what are you doing with your father’s hat? And why are you hanging out in the –” Then she saw me. She blinked and then quickly introduced herself. I hadn’t forgotten my manners, and so I replied in kind.

She was tall and seemed kind, but beyond her brown eyes, I could sense steel. I could picture her taking a baseball bat to a thief, if not a shotgun. It wasn’t long before she excused herself and told Kiranda to not dilly-dally because Uncle Thomas would be there for dinner.

So Cutler wasn’t her boyfriend after all. I smiled to myself and half-heartedly tried to fight down the glow I felt inside. I tacked to a safer topic before my mouth decided to operate without my brain. “Wow. How big is your family?”

“I guess we’re bigger than most,” she replied. “but Uncle Thomas doesn’t live here; he just stops in sometimes during a buying trip.”

“So he does a lot of shopping?” Feeling brave with what I had just discovered, I tried to be humorous.

“No,” she said quietly. “He buys antiques. He’s been all over the world.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Uncle Kevin lumbered back up the porch steps. “Alright, we’re done with the meter. Looks like a normal month,” he told Kiranda. “We’ll be back next time.” He looked at me and said, “You can hang out here if you’d like. I’ve got a few more houses left to go.”

I was about to reply when Kirandra’s mom called from inside, “Kira! Do you want to help in the kitchen?” I smiled helplessly; she shouted back, “Not now, mom. I’m busy!” Her mom replied, “We’re having Italian and you can work on your baking.” Kirandra’s face fell and the words teasing her about cooking dried in my throat.

“Sounds like you’ve got to get ready for supper and all that,” I offered.
“Yeah,” she said. Then her eyes lit up and it looked like she was going to say something, but her mom called again, “Kira” in one of those long, drawn-out calls that you knew meant “get here right away.”

“I’ve got to go,” she said, and even though she was wearing jeans, for some reason, she curtsied before shutting the door. I looked from the door back to Uncle Kevin. “Weird,” he said. I nodded, almost adding, “but in a good way.”

* * * * *

This evening it was subs from “Bradley’s Big Subs” and then a movie came on that I hadn’t seen. Uncle Kevin had already seen it, so he was messing with paperwork when there was a knock at the door. I leaned sideways in the chair and caught a glimpse of Steve, but this time out of work clothes. He wore a black AC/DC t-shirt, and I could tell by his grimace and the way he shut the door harder than necessary that something was up.

What I heard I wished that I hadn’t. Things so far had been peaceful and though I had to work pretty hard, I was enjoying the feeling of being far away from trouble and stress. In a few moments, I was introduced to all of Steve’s problems.

Steve groused about four-one-five. It turned out that there was a problem with the pipe. He thought it was one of those pinhole punctures that would be a real pain to find and required him to dig up lots of ground to find the exact location. Then he launched into problems at work; apparently Brian was a slacker and he probably wasn’t sick at all. Steve had seen him pulling into the grocery store. Uncle Kevin listened patiently and fiddled with the paperwork. When I got up to get something to drink, he looked at me with an expression that made me think he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. I tried to lighten the mood by talking about what happened at Kirandra’s house. Big mistake.

“Well it could be worse,” I offered. “You could have gum in your hair.”
Uncle Kevin laughed. He turned to Steve and gave him the back story.
Steve said, “Humph,” dismissively. “Their uncle burned me on a few acres, and I’ve never trusted him — or them — since. They all put on airs. Just because they’ve been around the world doesn’t make them freakin’ royalty.”

“I didn’t think –” I began, but Uncle Kevin interrupted me. “Hey Chris, isn’t that movie back on?”

I glanced at the TV. “Yeah, it is,” I said, a bit angrier than I meant it. Why was I so defensive? I didn’t even know the guy. Maybe he had ripped off Steve. I said nothing else and went back to the other room and turned up the TV.

A while later, Steve left and Uncle Kevin came back in. He looked over at me and said, “Hey, just a word to the wise: you can’t win any arguments with Steve.”

“Why not?”

“Because when he’s like this, the whole world is out to get him. Nothing is his fault.”

“So why do you…”

“Keep him around? Because he does a really good job.” Uncle Kevin sat down in the chair opposite mine. “But he has a need to vent from time to time and he knows that I’ll listen.”

I’d never thought of him as a counselor, even though I realized that he’d always been patient.

“It’s about as close to marriage as I want to get,” he said with a smile.

“So what happened with the land?” I asked.

“That’s an interesting story,” Uncle Kevin began, glancing at the action on TV. “There was a dispute over whether a strip of land was in Henry county or the city of Tarrant. Henry won and as a result, the land was available for development. Thomas and Steve decided to purchase seven acres, I think it was, of it. I remember Steve wanted to build a new house. Thomas had designs for a school of some sort. Something small and artsy.”

“How did they even know each other? They seem pretty different,” I said.

“They met at the meetings where the borders were resolved. They were on the same side of the dispute and felt that they had enough in common based on that, I suppose. Though, I’ve only heard Steve’s side of it,” he offered, almost as an afterthought.

“Anyways, they had the money ready and there were some forms to be filled out. The land was in high demand and they had to pay a retainer fee to start the whole buying process. I don’t know the amount, but it wasn’t pocket change. Thomas left under mysterious circumstances and wasn’t available to sign off. They both lost their money and didn’t get the land. Steve has been angry about it ever since.”

“I guess we shouldn’t tell him Thomas is in town, right?”

Uncle Kevin winked at me. “Right.”

Though as I dozed off to the movie, I couldn’t help but wonder what mysterious circumstances prevented Thomas from returning, and what his life was really like. The last thing I remembered of that day was the sound of the telephone ringing.

Mowing the backyard was slow and tricky work. The lawnmower died if I moved it more than a few feet at a time, because it couldn’t cut the tall grass quickly enough. The morning trickled by in rivers of sweat and in stop-and-go mowing. I dodged an old shoe and most of the the plastic Mtn Dew bottles. One I didn’t dodge went flying out of the lawnmower and pegged the fence like a fastball.

Ten thirty came and I was ready for a break. I cut off the mower and that’s when I heard a sound like dog scratching coming from the gate. I looked up and wiped the sweat from my brow. A skinny guy in a tie-dyed t-shirt and a Firefox cap had scrambled over the gate and into the backyard, crouched down and scanning the yard like a secret agent.

“Who are you?” I asked, blinking. Had I spent too much time in the sun?

He held up his hand in a way that looked like a backwards “L”. Then he said, “Oops. Wrong hand,” and did it with the other hand. I squinted. It wasn’t an L as much as a J.

“Uhm, I don’t know the secret handshake or anything,” I said, going to the porch and taking a swig from my water bottle. “Are you looking for my uncle?”

“Are you sure that you’re not him?” he asked, standing up and taking a few steps closer.

I gulped down the ice water. No, I wasn’t be dreaming this. This was just too weird.

“I’m pretty sure that I’m not. My voice is different and I don’t look anything like him.”

“Well that’s true. Usually they take an ordinary form and I’ve never seen you before. You stick out too much.”

That was a new one. I stuck out too much?

“Ok, what the heck are you talking about?”

He made his way out into the open and sighed. “Ok, I guess you aren’t a planetary invader after all.”

“Sorry. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” I replied. “But a planetary invader that has to mow yards?”

He shrugged. “The lowest caste always gets the menial labor! You are missing the comedic relief, though. Now if you had a psycho lawnmower, that would be total B-movie goodness.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I took another swig of water.

“No-one ever mows this yard, so I thought it was an invasion or Old Man Simmons had escaped. By the way, I’m J.” He held out his hand and then pulled it back.

“Yeah, I’ve been mowing. I’m Chris,” I said. “Chris Caldwell. Kevin’s my uncle.”

“So you ARE in the lowest caste,” he said. “Chores without pay. Ugh.”

I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

“But it’s not that good either.”

I grinned. “So what’s J short for?” I asked.

“John Cutler.” He made some complicated map with his finger, pointing several places, one right after another. “I’m over that way.”

“Cool. I’m, erm, here. For the summer.”

He nodded. “Hey, do you –” and then an alarm went off somewhere on his body. “Oh man, now I’m late. Do you want to hang out or something sometime?” he asked as he climbed the gate.

“Sure!” It was great to meet someone my own age, even if he was off-the-wall. Brian was a little like that back home.

He sat at the top of the gate, one leg on the inside, one leg on the outside. “Ok. I’ll introduce you to –” The alarm went off again. “Ok, ok. Just beware the evil almost-goth girl!” He jumped off and hit the ground running.

I shook my head and restarted the mower.

* * * * *

By late afternoon, I had finished all of the backyard except for a strip along the side. Three apple trees made mowing that part almost impossible, so I called it quits for the day. I took a shower, watched some TV, and then wandered outside to the front steps. Maybe I’d fool around with my camera later on, but right then I just wanted to be lazy.

A cool breeze stole across the porch and the sunlight slowly faded from the sky as I sat there, thinking. I felt disconnected, being away from home and away from my friends. I wasn’t really homesick, though, because it still felt like a short vacation. It was the lack of communication that bothered me. Tarrant had to have a library or a Starbucks or something with Net access. But as I sat there, even those thoughts slipped away like clouds moving slowly across the sky; I watched cars go by, people across the street take care of their yards, and children chase each other on bicycles and rollerblades.

Then it was dusk. Uncle Kevin had called, saying he’d be in later and would bring some burgers. I was sitting on the front porch, waiting to see if Kirandra would show up when the sound of a wind chime came floating over on the breeze. I listened, idly, as it got louder. “That’s weird,” I thought. I stepped out on the sidewalk to look for it and it found me.

Kirandra was carrying a black iron wind chime, that had a strange symbol at the top of each chime. They looked like the decorations I’d seen on old maps.

She was about a foot shorter than I was, with black curly hair that barely reached her shoulders and framed her face. The way she walked, she seemed expectant, like she was standing on the prow of a ship. Her eyes were sky blue, and like last night, she seemed lost in thought. She wore a black t-shirt that ended in frilly sleeves, a denim skirt, and high-tops that didn’t match — one was pink, the other the color of her eyes.

“Hi,” I said, and not knowing what to do exactly, I waved.

She stopped short as if someone had pulled out a rug from underneath her.
“Hi.” She looked over at me and then at the house. “Do you live here?” She seemed embarassed as though she should have known the answer.

“Only for the summer,” I admitted.

“Oh.”

“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the wind chime. “It’s got weird symbols on it.”

“It’s an antique. An antique wind chime. Yorkshire, England, nineteen thirty-two.” She recited the information like she were reading it from an encyclopedia.

“Really?” I asked, taking a closer look. “How did you know all that?”

“The dealer told us,” she said, sheepishly. “We just got in the shipment today.”

“And it’s ok to just carry it like that?”

She smiled proudly. “I’ve never dropped or broken an antique yet.” I didn’t get why she was allowed to do it at all, but I got the feeling that there was more to the story.

“I’m taking it home to check the shipment and do the inventory,” she explained.

I blinked. I didn’t know the first thing about antiques, but it sounded interesting. There was something about old things that drew me to them. I guess that’s another reason why I wanted to spend the summer in Tarrant. I lived in the suburbs, which were modern, but somehow unreal. It was like they had grown up overnight and could disappear overnight.

“Is that far?” I said, immediately regretting it. If it was far, she wouldn’t be walking, would she?

“Not too far.”

“Mind if I come along? I haven’t seen much of this place yet.”

“Oh. Right. Sure,” she said, as if that was the last thing in the world she had expected me to say.

“Give me a sec.” I went and left a note on the front door and joined her in the deepening dusk.

We walked for a little bit and I said, “Maybe this isn’t fair, but I know your name and you don’t know mine.”

She looked over at me quickly. Her voice was a soft sigh. “That isn’t fair. You’ve heard about me already?”

“Well, it’s nothing bad,” I said. “My uncle just told me your name and what your folks do.”

She seemed relieved and then said, “Oh. I’m sure you have a name too.”

“I’m Chris Caldwell.”

“And you’re just here for the summer?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” I said, “but until August, anyhow. Summer ends in August, you know.”

She nodded. “Our school starts up on the thirtieth.”

“Same here.”

The wind chime jangled as we walked.

“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling that it was important somehow, “I did meet this guy. Actually he jumped over my fence and introduced himself. John Cutler.”

“John Cutler?” she asked, surprised and as far as I could tell, disgusted, but disgusted like she had gotten used to it.

“Uhm. Yeah. He says to call him J? Did I say something wrong?”

“Not really, I guess,” she said, sighing. I glanced at her and it looked like she was keeping back a smile.

“You’re not the evil almost goth girl are you?” She was smiling now.

“Of course. And he’s the amazing almost-human geek boy.”

I didn’t quite know what to make of that. He did tell me to stay away from her, and maybe that was some kind of weird code for “back off”? Part of me felt like laughing, but most of me felt sick and embarassed. We walked for a few moments in silence. I couldn’t think up anything witty, so I just said, “Cool. Well it’s getting close to suppertime, so I need to get going.”

She stopped. A few houses ahead of us on the right the lights flickered on, spreading out a warm and inviting glow. The house was painted to look like natural wood, with its latticework and wooden columns curving and detailed as if artwork. On the front porch, near two antique lamps, stood a tall woman.

“We’re almost there –”

“Really, I’ve gotta go. I’d probably just get in the way, anyhow. It was great meeting you and everything.”

“Oh. Yeah. Same here,” she said, her voice softer than ever.

As I turned around and headed back into the darkness, I could feel Kirandra’s eyes on me, and the eyes of the woman on the porch.

“Yeah,” I said, turning from the window and feeling suddenly self-conscious. He didn’t say which room to take, so I just picked one I liked. “It’s ok and everything, right?”

“Sure,” he said non-comittally. I don’t think he cared that I took this room, but it was a change having someone else around.

And then then my stomach rumbled. Lunch was an airport double-cheese burger that cost four times as much as it should, and that was five hours ago. Uncle Kevin grinned. “You must be hungry. I think they heard that one down the street.” I shrugged. “Anyways, let’s go downstairs and order some pizza.”

I followed him down the narrow half-spiral staircase. It was smaller than I remember and I wondered how I ever ran up it so quickly without losing body parts. On the other hand, Uncle Kevin seemed much larger. He wasn’t fat, but muscular, and built like a baseball player. He still wore glasses and a baseball cap, and his face still seemed a bit too angular, though the goatee and the mustache helped soften the effect. He had managed to stay single despite the ribbing he got at every family reunion.

He moved aside some work papers that covered every countertop, shelf, and appliance to fish out the phone. With one finger and one button, he dialed the pizza place. That didn’t surprise me. He had always been the consummate bachelor, the “cool uncle”, and I guess he always would be.

“Don’t mind the mess, Chris.” he said, once we had finished ordering. “Business has been good.”

Glancing at the papers, most of which were order forms and receipts, I nodded. “Looks like it.”

“That’s the advantage of being in oil and gas. No matter what happens, people like heat and power. Natural gas, kerosene, oil — we’ve got them covered.”

He stretched out a bit and then pointed to a tall erasable notepad on the refrigerator door. “Oh, and that’s the list.” He looked at me with a half-serious expression, waiting for the standard reply.

“You said The List,” I said.

“That’s right. That is The List — the list of all the stuff I need to do but haven’t gotten around to. Now it’s your list.”

I sighed and ambled over to the refrigerator. Sure enough, at the very top was “Mow the backyard.”

“And I did think about getting a maid or a handyman or someone like that, but that’s expensive.”

I sighed. I had forgotten about that. Uncle Kevin knew how to pinch a penny. That’s why he was living in this house — stately in an antique sort of way — but lacking in many modern anemities, like enough wall outlets. It also didn’t hurt that the town made it very attractive for people to live in these older homes rather than raze them or let them become dilapidated.

A loud knock scattered my thoughts and made me think again about my stomach. I clenched my muscles, hoping that would stop the growling if it struck. Uncle Kevin made his way to the door where he chatted with the delivery guy, showed his Frequent Pizza discount card, and finally brought dinner back inside.

We cleared off the dining room table, because it had less mess than the other countertops, and after a quick blessing, we finally got to eat. Uncle Kevin had drawn back the drapes on the large front windows, so that we’d have something to look at besides the clutter and each other. It was my third slice of pizza when I noticed someone walking down the sidewalk.

She was not too tall and not too short, with dark hair in curls and arms wrapped around a dull silver urn. I couldn’t see her eyes from so far away, but she looked fragile, somehow, like she was looking for something that she had lost.

Maybe it was the lull in the conversation, or maybe Uncle Kevin had noticed that I was staring out the window. “Do you want to know who she is?” he asked, teasing me.

I really didn’t want to blush, but I felt the heat rise to my cheeks anyway. “Sure,” I said, trying not to sound eager.

“She’s Kirandra.” And with that name, I knew that I wanted to meet her. Uncle Kevin took another bite of pizza. “Different. Her whole family is unusual. They run an antique and rarities business. Pretty successful, too.”

Then he burped and looked thoughtful. Outside, it was now dusk.

“I know we didn’t talk much about why you’re here and that’s ok,” he said. I just continued looking out the window.

“But this was a good idea and I hope it all works out for your folks.”

I nodded, and said to the darkening world, “Me too.”

He did have a nice TV, so we spent a while watching various shows before I headed off to bed. It had been a long day and I was more tired than usual. The bed was comfortable though, and as soon as I shut my eyes, the whole day replayed itself as if in fast-forward. My last thoughts were of the mysterious girl with her hands wrapped around a dull silver urn.

It was the beginning of June when they said goodbye to me at the airport, and within fifteen minutes, I was on a plane to Tarrant, Ohio to see Uncle Kevin. It was beautiful and strange. Tarrant was one of those small towns nestled in a valley where history and hope seemed to be part of the air, and Uncle Kevin wasn’t really my uncle, but an older cousin. Still, I had called him uncle since I was about six, and the name just stuck. He owned a three-story house that must have been built in the early 1900’s.

He was a little bit too happy that I’d be joining him for the summer, like he had a secret list of dirty jobs ready to spring on me. My suspicions were right. On the way back from the airport, he told me that I’d have to pay my way by doing the laundry, mowing the yard, and taking care of all the things that he hadn’t got around to doing. I soon saw exactly what he meant. The backyard was buried by grass nearly up to my waist. “The mower’s out there somewhere,” he said. “I think.” I wasn’t at all sure I would make it back if I went to look for it.

I moved my stuff into one of empty upstairs bedrooms and looked over at what I had brought — just the basics: clothes, swimming trunks, my camera, and some toiletries. My laptop was broken and my parents were going to get me a cell phone, but they hadn’t yet. “Maybe this is roughing it,” I said out loud, gazing out the window at the lazy street below, the houses hiding among the trees that sprawled shade everywhere. The sun lined rooftops, leaves, and the street in gold leaf. I took a picture and then set the camera on the bed, wondering what else laid in wait besides the jungle in the backyard.