Read Online Where's My Wand?: One Boy's Magical Triumph Over Alienation and Shag Carpeting by Eric Poole - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Poole
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interim Val and Aunt Jinny had turned this little corner of hell into our home for the next week—raising the tent, setting up the makeshift kitchen and preparing a campfire for the wild boar I was certain Aunt Jinny would bludgeon and roast over it.
Val—who, like me, had inherited Mother’s enthusiasm for cleanliness—had, according to Aunt Jinny, been a whirling dervish of activity, sweeping the clearing (on her hands and knees) with a whisk broom after Jinny had informed her that there was no vacuum cleaner in the trunk.
I stood in the clearing, my arms outstretched as Aunt Jinny sprayed my body with sticky bug repellent, wondering if this was how Jesus started his career.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Val said proudly. She had obviously drunk the Kool-Aid. She motioned to our surroundings with a sweeping arm gesture à la Let’s Make a Deal ’s Carol Merrill, as though Door Number 3 was opening to reveal it.
I gazed around. As I began to take in the surroundings for the first time, I had to admit that, although the closest washer and dryer were miles away, the setting was indeed beautiful. Tall, majestic pine trees made a canopy of green that surrounded this perfect, peaceful clearing. Birds chirped. A light breeze rustled through the leaves. The temperature had cooled down to a manageable eighty degrees. It felt as though we were cupped in the hand of God.
“Why don’t we walk down to the river, since Eric hasn’t seen it yet,” Aunt Jinny suggested. As we crossed through the woods and onto the shoreline, the setting sun cast a warm glow across the lake. The water sparkled. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for an answer, Aunt Jinny yanked off her combat boots to wade into the water. She motioned for us to do the same. Val slipped off her sandals and tiptoed in, yelping momentarily at the freezing temperature of the water. Once I had removed my Keds, folded my tube socks and tucked them into each corresponding shoe, and rolled up my jeans with identical one-and-a-half-inch cuffs, I was ready to join them.
We waded through the crystal clear, shallow water, enthralled by the beauty that surrounded us.
“This is where I feel closest to God,” Aunt Jinny said as she gazed at the towering trees lining the river.
The river bottom was rocky, and the sharp stones began to gouge the tender toes of Val and me, whose bare feet rarely touched anything sharper than the shag.
“Well, when you talk to him,” Val said as she and I limped along, yelping, “could you ask him to pave this thing?”
OVER A tasty dinner of campfire-grilled hot dogs, greasy potato chips and Coke, Aunt Jinny grilled us about school.
“So, what are your favorite subjects?”
“I like PE,” Val replied.
Aunt Jinny lit up. “A girl after my own heart. What’s your favorite sport?”
“Oh, I hate sports,” Val replied. “But we get to play right next to the boys.”
“We didn’t get to play sports much when I was your age,” Aunt Jinny said, a bit wistful. “It wasn’t considered lady-like.”
“Well, it isn’t,” Val replied. “We have a word for the girls who like to play field hockey. It’s—”
Aunt Jinny quickly turned to me, interrupting Val. “And how about you?”
“Music,” I replied, rocking back and forth in place, my legs crossed. “I like art, too, but I’m not that good with macaroni.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied, “most of the masters didn’t work in pasta.”
“My art teacher says I’m ‘limited,’ but I think she means ’cause I don’t have the sixty-four box of Crayolas. When you’re missing Burnt Sienna and Cornflower, any picture’s gonna be a little dull.”
“That makes sense,” she replied, patting my hand.
“Oh,” I said enthusiastically, “I also like English.”
“And he wonders why he gets beat up so much,” Val said, rolling her eyes.
I doubled over slightly, clutching my stomach. Aunt Jinny frowned, concerned that Val’s comment
Val—who, like me, had inherited Mother’s enthusiasm for cleanliness—had, according to Aunt Jinny, been a whirling dervish of activity, sweeping the clearing (on her hands and knees) with a whisk broom after Jinny had informed her that there was no vacuum cleaner in the trunk.
I stood in the clearing, my arms outstretched as Aunt Jinny sprayed my body with sticky bug repellent, wondering if this was how Jesus started his career.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Val said proudly. She had obviously drunk the Kool-Aid. She motioned to our surroundings with a sweeping arm gesture à la Let’s Make a Deal ’s Carol Merrill, as though Door Number 3 was opening to reveal it.
I gazed around. As I began to take in the surroundings for the first time, I had to admit that, although the closest washer and dryer were miles away, the setting was indeed beautiful. Tall, majestic pine trees made a canopy of green that surrounded this perfect, peaceful clearing. Birds chirped. A light breeze rustled through the leaves. The temperature had cooled down to a manageable eighty degrees. It felt as though we were cupped in the hand of God.
“Why don’t we walk down to the river, since Eric hasn’t seen it yet,” Aunt Jinny suggested. As we crossed through the woods and onto the shoreline, the setting sun cast a warm glow across the lake. The water sparkled. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for an answer, Aunt Jinny yanked off her combat boots to wade into the water. She motioned for us to do the same. Val slipped off her sandals and tiptoed in, yelping momentarily at the freezing temperature of the water. Once I had removed my Keds, folded my tube socks and tucked them into each corresponding shoe, and rolled up my jeans with identical one-and-a-half-inch cuffs, I was ready to join them.
We waded through the crystal clear, shallow water, enthralled by the beauty that surrounded us.
“This is where I feel closest to God,” Aunt Jinny said as she gazed at the towering trees lining the river.
The river bottom was rocky, and the sharp stones began to gouge the tender toes of Val and me, whose bare feet rarely touched anything sharper than the shag.
“Well, when you talk to him,” Val said as she and I limped along, yelping, “could you ask him to pave this thing?”
OVER A tasty dinner of campfire-grilled hot dogs, greasy potato chips and Coke, Aunt Jinny grilled us about school.
“So, what are your favorite subjects?”
“I like PE,” Val replied.
Aunt Jinny lit up. “A girl after my own heart. What’s your favorite sport?”
“Oh, I hate sports,” Val replied. “But we get to play right next to the boys.”
“We didn’t get to play sports much when I was your age,” Aunt Jinny said, a bit wistful. “It wasn’t considered lady-like.”
“Well, it isn’t,” Val replied. “We have a word for the girls who like to play field hockey. It’s—”
Aunt Jinny quickly turned to me, interrupting Val. “And how about you?”
“Music,” I replied, rocking back and forth in place, my legs crossed. “I like art, too, but I’m not that good with macaroni.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied, “most of the masters didn’t work in pasta.”
“My art teacher says I’m ‘limited,’ but I think she means ’cause I don’t have the sixty-four box of Crayolas. When you’re missing Burnt Sienna and Cornflower, any picture’s gonna be a little dull.”
“That makes sense,” she replied, patting my hand.
“Oh,” I said enthusiastically, “I also like English.”
“And he wonders why he gets beat up so much,” Val said, rolling her eyes.
I doubled over slightly, clutching my stomach. Aunt Jinny frowned, concerned that Val’s comment
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