The Falls (8 page)

“The night is still young,” Timmy said. “I'll take care of things for you.”

“Like you took care of the beer?”

“I did,” he said, leaning in close, his breath stinking of alcohol. “Most of it's safe . . . I've got it right here.” He patted his stomach and laughed. “Although maybe some of it needs to escape. Come on.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “I need to take a leak.”

“Congratulations. You can probably do that on your own.”

“Probably. Come and talk to me.”

He turned and started to walk. I looked over at Candice. She was talking to the girl beside her and wasn't looking at me. I hurried to catch up to Timmy. As I left the clearing, the blackness swallowed me up again and I felt safer.

“Timmy?” I called out.

“Over here.”

I startled at his voice. He was only a dozen feet away, but he was invisible to me until he waved his hand. I walked closer but kept some distance to let him have his privacy.

“Man, this feels good,” Timmy said. “I was just about to bust a kidney.”

“That's what happens when you drink a two-four.”

“I didn't drink it all. I shared, including with that Candice girl you like.”

“You did?”

“I did.” I heard him doing up his zipper and he turned and walked to my side. “I figured your best chance was if she was at least partially drunk. You know, the more she drinks the better you'll look.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I still would have liked more than one beer for me,” I said.

“And that's why you can have more than one. I stashed two beers.”

“You did!”

“I did. Even put 'em where they'd stay cold 'cause I know you don't like 'em warm. Put 'em in that little creek, just by the big rock.”

“Thanks, Timmy, I really appreciate it.”

“I told ya, I take care of my friends. You should go down and get 'em . . . but not alone. You should take somebody with you.”

“Haven't you already had enough to drink?” I asked. I wasn't grateful enough to want to split the last two beers with him.

“Not me, you idiot! Take somebody you want to share things with,” he said. “How about, like maybe, that Candice girl? Wouldn't you like to share a few things with her, man?”

I didn't answer.

“Ask if she wants another beer. If she says yes, then the two of you go off to get 'em. Just think, a cold beer, a girl you like, privacy, and darkness. Darkness may be the only thing that makes you look better than alcohol.”

“Shut up, Timmy.”

“After everything I've done for you, you're telling me to shut up?”

He had been pretty thoughtful. I mumbled an apology.

“That's better. Sounds pretty good, don't it?”

“I don't know.”

“What don't you know? You like her, right?”

“I don't really know her.”

“Would you like to get to know her?” Timmy asked. “'Cause that would involve you having to talk. So go.”

“I will. I'm just waiting for the right moment.”

“That moment better be right now before somebody else hits on her.”

I spun around to face the clearing. She was still sitting there, talking to that girl. “I don't see anybody. Who's going to hit on her?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, look at her . . . she's hot.”

“I thought we were friends,” I gasped.

“We are. And that's why I'm giving you a warning, a head start, and a push all at once. You want her, you go and get her. If you don't, then I'm gonna put a move on her and you can have her friend.”

“Her friend? You mean the girl with her?”

Timmy nodded.

“But she's . . . she's . . .”

“Ugly?” Timmy asked.

“I didn't say that.”

“But I bet you were thinking it. She's all yours.” He paused. “But if you want that Candice girl instead, then
you've got the next two minutes. Use it or lose it, man.” Timmy smiled. “It's now or never.”

We walked back into the light, and I felt open and exposed, like every eye was on me. Every eye, of course, except for Candice's. She hadn't seen me go and she hadn't noticed me return.

“Go on,” Timmy said as he gave me a little push. He went and sat back down while I slowly circled around the fire until I stood in front of Candice, between her and the fire. She was still lost in conversation, unaware I was there until her friend looked up at me. Candice looked up and smiled. Thank goodness she smiled.

“Hey,” I said. So much for a brilliant opening line.

“Hey.”

“I didn't know you'd be here tonight,” I said.

“Me neither . . . I mean, I didn't know you were going to be here, but I knew I was going to be here . . . at least, I didn't know right away but later on . . . you know what I mean.”

I nodded. Somehow her being nervous made me feel less nervous.

“Do you want another beer?” I asked.

“I don't think there are any left.”

“You have to know where to look. Come on and I'll show you.”

She said something to her friend, who giggled, and then she got up. She followed me as I circled back around the fire. Now I wasn't imagining it—everybody
was
looking at us as we walked. I stopped at the top of the path leading away.

“It's this way,” I said, and started down the path. She followed.

“It's dark,” she said. “I can't really see where I'm going.”

“Here.” Without thinking I reached back and took her hand . . . wow, that was smooth. Maybe that was the secret: don't think. That would explain why Timmy did so well . . . he never thought about anything.

“I know where I'm going,” I said.

“Is it far?” Candice asked.

“Not far.”

The path got narrower and I had to walk in front. I still held on to her hand, pulling her along behind me. Was my hand getting sweaty? Maybe she'd think it was her hand.

I stopped in front of the little creek. It wasn't very big— a few little drops that accumulated as it trickled through the forest before plunging down to the river below.

“Why don't you have a seat?” I said, gesturing to a rock. Candice sat down while I knelt and began fishing around in the water. It was cold . . . refreshing. Timmy
had
put the bottles in here, hadn't he? He wouldn't have been just screwing around with my head . . . that would be so embarrassing. My hand knocked against one of the bottles—right where it should be—and then a second one.

“Here we go, Candice,” I said as I stood up, brandishing the bottles. I put one down by my feet, twisted the top off the second—a gentleman always took the cap off—and handed it to Candice.

“Thanks,” she said. “But you can call me Candy if you want . . . all my friends do.”

“Sure . . . okay . . . Candy.” That sounded good. I had a sweet tooth and liked Candy.

I grabbed the second, twisted off the cap, and sat down beside her. The rock wasn't very big so I was pressed right
up against her. I took a swig of beer to lubricate my throat so I could talk. Cold beer certainly was better than warm.

“I went by your place on the way here,” I said.

“You didn't call on me, did you?” she asked anxiously.

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “I figured you'd probably be gone by the time I got there. Besides, I didn't think your father would be that happy to see me.”

“You've got that right, but don't take it personally. He doesn't like any boys calling on me. He says all boys are jerks.”

“And most men,” I added. “But don't worry about it. It's no big deal.”

“It's funny, though,” she said. “He
really
doesn't like you.”

My stomach did a flip. “I guess you heard what happened.”

“I
saw
what happened.”

Whatever chance I had of getting with her was now gone. Maybe it would be better to just get up and leave.

“I told him that I thought you were a nice guy,” Candice said.

“I
am
a nice guy,” I agreed, suddenly feeling better. “It's just that he really doesn't know me.”

“But he does know your father. He
hates
him. What's that all about?” Candice asked.

“I don't know.”

“Maybe you could ask your father.”

“Can't.”

“Doesn't he live with you?” she asked.

“He doesn't live with anybody. He's dead.”

“I didn't know . . . I'm so sorry.”

I took a slug from the bottle. “That's okay. It was a long time ago. I was little.”

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Three . . . almost four.”

“That's terrible. Do you even remember him?”

I shook my head. How could you remember somebody you'd hardly ever met? I stood up and tipped back the bottle, draining it.

“My father mentioned that your mother was pretty young when she had you,” Candice said. “Maybe that's why he doesn't like your father.”

“Maybe. She just turned seventeen on the day I was born. We have the same birthday.”

“Wow, that is young.”

“It is,” I agreed.

“But if your father and my father went to school at the same time, then your mother couldn't have been that much older when you were born.”

“She was in her twenties,” Candice said.

“Are you sure?”

Candice nodded her head. “She's thirty-five now so if you subtract my age that would mean that she was . . . she was twenty-two or twenty-three when I was born.”

“That can't be right. If she's thirty-five now and she was twenty-three when you were born, then that would make you—”

“I'll be thirteen in two weeks.”

I felt like somebody had just kicked me in the head. “You'll be what?”

“I'll be thirteen on July twenty-fourth.”

“You're twelve years old?” I gasped. No wonder her father was mad at me—if she was my daughter, I would
have been out there with a baseball bat too! She was just a kid!

“Most people think I look older,” Candice said. “Do you think I look older?”

“Yeah, of course!” I exclaimed. If I'd known she was twelve there was no way I'd have been out there in the woods all snuggled up to her and thinking about . . . I jumped to my feet.

“I thought you were fifteen, or at least fourteen . . . honestly!” I stammered. “I had no idea you were twelve!”

“Really I'm thirteen, almost, and people tell me I look older than fifteen. Last month when I was out at a restaurant and the waitress thought I was old enough to drink . . . isn't that funny?”

“Yeah, funny.” I looked at the beer in her hand. “You shouldn't be drinking!” I grabbed the bottle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she jumped to her feet.

“You're only twelve! You shouldn't be drinking!”

“I've been drinking for a long time!” she exclaimed. “Over two months!” She reached for the bottle and I pulled it away so she couldn't get it.

“Give me back my beer!”

“You can't have it!” I turned around and tossed the beer into the trees. I heard the bottle smash.

“What are you, some sort of psycho?” she demanded. “That was my beer!”

“It was my beer, and you shouldn't have had any of it! Go!” I shouted. “Go back to the clearing, now!”

“You can't order me around!” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

“Fine . . . stay here if you want, but I'm leaving.” I started walking away in the opposite direction from the clearing.

“Where are you going?” she yelled.

I turned around. “Can you find your way back to the clearing?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you'd better do that.” I turned and started to walk away again. She kept yelling at me. I didn't turn. I didn't answer. I kept walking toward the gorge.

 

 

 

 

I
SAT ON THE LEDGE
, my legs dangling over. Down through my feet—far below my feet—I could see the river. It was still dark so I couldn't see things clearly, but I could catch glimmering glimpses of the water. I figured it was at least a twenty-metre drop into the rapids. The water twisted and roared and raged as it raced over and between the rocks that dotted the river. A drop from there would probably be deadly. Maybe it wouldn't. It would depend on where you fell, whether you hit rock or water, and how deep the water was if you did hit it. Even if the drop didn't kill you, what came next probably would. The current would sweep you in one of two directions. Either you'd be caught up in the water-intake for the power plant and crushed in the generators—or you'd go over the Falls.

Of course there was a chance you might be able to drag yourself to shore first, or cling to a rock and wait for daybreak, when somebody would see you and send out a rescue team. You could drop into the water and live. It
could
happen.

I'd even seen it happen before. There were these three guys fishing on the river one day, upstream. Their engine died and the boat started drifting toward the Falls. It got caught up in the current, going faster and
faster as it got closer and closer. Somehow—dumb luck, I guess—it got wedged between two rocks.

I watched—almost everybody in Niagara Falls was watching—as a Coast Guard helicopter hovered overtop of them. Then the door opened and a guy appeared, and he went over the side attached to a rope, like a spider on a thread, and dropped down onto that boat. One by one the men on the boat were pulled up to the helicopter. I could have sworn that I saw that boat wobble and shift as each man was lifted off. Finally the rescuer was pulled up and the helicopter flew away. That guy had to be the bravest guy I ever saw in my whole life. I saw him interviewed on TV. He was a search-and-rescue expert with the Coast Guard. He talked about how it was a little tricky but all “part of the job.” What a job!