Saving Dylan

Alan Dwight

alantfraserdwight@gmail.com

Craig Martin came into my office and sat heavily on a customer chair. He sighed deeply.

He and I had been friends since elementary school. There were times now when I worried about him. He seemed consumed by his job. We were employed by the same company, so we saw each other often. Usually, when I entered the offices in the morning, Craig was already hard at work. When I left in the evenings, he was still at his desk, deeply engrossed in what he was doing.

“Ben,” he said, “can I talk to you?”

“Sure, Craig, what’s the problem?”

“It’s Dylan,” he said.

I wasn’t surprised. Dylan was his fifteen-year-old son. A little over a year ago, when Craig’s wife left him and Dylan without a word as to why or where she was going, I knew that Dylan had started going downhill. He used to love school, but now he was failing. He used to be fun and easygoing, but now he was moody and angry. His decline had begun the day that Elaine left.

Dylan and I had known each other since he was born. I was his godfather, a responsibility I took seriously. Sometimes we would go to ball games together or go for a hike. But I hadn’t seen him since his mother had left. I knew Craig had hired someone to care for Dylan when he wasn’t in school, but I didn’t think that person did any more than feed him and do the laundry.

Craig had married Elaine right out of high school. She hadn’t yet turned eighteen, but she was pregnant. Knowing Craig’s work ethic, I wasn’t astounded when she left. Craig was never home. Raising Dylan was totally her job. I concluded that she had left to seek more of a life elsewhere. A new beginning. I was surprised she hadn’t taken Dylan with her, but I supposed that having no entanglements fit with her new life.

“What about Dylan?” I asked.

“He’s been picked up by plain-clothes police twice,” said Craig sadly.

I was surprised. “For what?”

“Would you believe it was for soliciting?”

“No! You mean sex?” I was shocked.

“Yes. Both times he was picked up in a well-known cruising area just outside of town.”

“Do you think he was ever successful?”

“He says he wasn’t, but I don’t know what to believe.”

“How would he even know about cruising?”

“He tells me that there are at least two boys in his high school who do it to earn money.”

“So he was willing to sell himself?”

“Looks like it, and it wasn’t because of money because he has access to all he needs and wants. I have no idea what to do. I took him to a therapist but he’s refused to even speak to the man.” He paused, for a moment before saying, “Ben, I need your help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, see if he’ll talk to you. Maybe take him somewhere away from this town and his school friends. I don’t know. I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Can you let me think about it a little? I’m not sure he’d pay any more attention to me than he does to others.”

“Do think about it. Please help.” Craig looked so sad I gave in and promised I’d do what I could.

That night, as I ate my supper, I thought about what to do. A possible plan began to form but I had no idea if it would work.

I thought about the idea for two more days, and then I phoned Craig. “I have a plan, but I’ll need to take him for a few weeks.”

“Okay,” he said. “I appreciate anything you can do.”

“Tell him to pack extra clothes. We’re going north, so he’ll need a warm jacket, bug repellant, and anything else he might want for a couple of weeks. I’ll pick him up tomorrow ─ early.”

That evening, I went to the market and then packed the supplies we would need. I knew the plan I’d come up with could totally fail but it was the only one I could think of.

When my alarm went off at 6:00, I had a hasty breakfast, tied my old canoe onto my pickup truck and put the other supplies, including an ice chest, in the bed of the truck. I drove to the Martins’ house, where Craig and Dylan were just finishing breakfast.

When I went into the kitchen, Dylan looked up at me but then dropped his eyes back to his cereal.

“Dylan,” I said, “are you packed?”

“Yup,” he answered, still not looking at me. “Where are we going?”

“For now I’ll just say it’s somewhere that you’ve never been before. We’re going quite a distance, so be sure you have what you need for a few weeks.”

I got no response.

Dylan finished his cereal, put his bowl in the sink, and went to his room to get his backpack. I was pretty sure he didn’t have enough for multiple weeks, but I decided not to make a point of it.

Craig, Dylan, and I went out the front door and Dylan stopped abruptly, looking at the truck.

“Why do we need the canoe?” he asked.

“Because we can’t drive where we’re going. You can swim, can’t you?”

He gave me a scornful look and muttered, “Of course,” before he put his bag in the back of the truck and climbed into the cab.

Before I got into the truck, Craig shook my hand, saying quietly, “Good luck.”

As we drove out of town, Dylan was silent. We rode through a bit of Massachusetts, then a little bit of eastern New Hampshire, and finally entered Maine, driving onto the Maine Turnpike. When we got on the turnpike, he asked, “How much farther?”

“About 300 miles,” I said.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“What are you doing? Kidnapping me?”

“Nope.”

“Jeez. Three hundred fucking miles.”

“Watch your language,” I said quietly.

“I’ll say what I want to say.”

“There may be penalties,” I said.

“You can’t touch me,” Dylan protested. “If you do, I’ll have you arrested.”

“Not all penalties require touching,” I said, “but I’d rather avoid the penalties if we can.”

Dylan placed earbuds in his ears and sat, bouncing gently. A couple of times he asked how much farther we had to go. I told him we were heading to Exit 244.

“Jeez! We just passed Exit 23. It’s gonna take forever.”

“I remember feeling the same way when I was your age,” I said, “but we’ll get there.”

We were in fact heading to a lakeside property which my father had purchased years earlier, intending to have a cottage built on it. That never happened, but every summer my family had returned to it and camped out. Since my parents had died, I hadn’t been back, and I could only hope that nobody had decided to camp on my property.

Some six hours later, we turned off the Pike onto a secondary road heading west. It took us through Millinocket. As we drove, Dylan said, “Ben, I’m starved!”

“Yup. We’ll get something to eat here.”

In a moment, he cried out, “There’s a McDonald’s!”

“Not healthy enough,” I responded, and we pulled up to a restaurant which I had been to often.

After we’d emptied our bladders, we sat at a table and the waiter produced menus.

Putting mine aside I said, “I’ll just have the Mediterranean Salad.”

“Why is the burger so expensive?” Dylan asked the waiter.

“Because it’s made with Grade A Angus beef,” the waiter replied with a small grin.

“Can I have that?” Dylan asked me.

“Yup, if that’s what you want.”

Dylan ordered it and then, as we waited, he asked, “How much farther do we have to go?”

“We’ll go a bit west and then stop, put the canoe in the water, and paddle to our destination. The paddling usually takes about two hours if we work at it.”

We finished our lunches, I paid, and we returned to the truck.

As we got into the truck, Dylan said, “That was the best burger I’ve ever had.”

“That’s good, because it’s also the last one you’ll have for a couple of weeks.”

It wasn’t a long drive to the Pemadumcook Chain of Lakes. I found the spot at the edge of the lake where we could launch the canoe. We took it off the truck and carried it to the water, leaving it partly on land so it didn’t float away. Then we fetched the rest of our gear from the truck, including our personal bags.

I pointed to Dylan’s phone and earbuds, saying he might as well leave those in the glove compartment of the truck.

“No way,” he exclaimed. “I’m not gonna be without my tunes.”

“Well, actually you are. First of all, the reception here is almost nonexistent and second, there’s no place where we’re going that has electricity, so you won’t be able to charge your phone.”

“Shit!” he said, placing the phone and earbuds in the glove compartment. “If anyone steals it, you’re paying.”

“Nobody will steal anything,” I said. “Most folks up here don’t even lock their cars or their homes. There’s just not enough here to make theft profitable.”

“I can’t believe this,” muttered Dylan as he headed towards the canoe.

To make him happy I locked the truck, which meant I’d have to be careful not to lose the keys.

We removed our sneakers and tossed them into the canoe before we launched it, climbing in as it began to float.

“You have been here before, haven’t you?” Dylan asked with a challenge in his voice.

“Many times,” I answered. “The first time was when I was a lot younger than you.”

“Humpf,” was his only response.

We paddled for nearly an hour with Dylan in the bow and me in the stern where I could steer. I had to admit that Dylan tried to do his part, and I was grateful that he wasn’t challenging me more.

I called a halt to the paddling and we drifted slowly along.

“How are your arms?” I asked.

“Tired,” he said without looking back.

After a short rest, we began to paddle again, but I could see that Dylan was about done. He was going through the motions but not putting any energy into his strokes. With my daily gym workouts, I was in pretty good shape, so I didn’t mind having to provide most of the locomotion. I didn’t say anything more to him as his paddling grew weaker and soon became nonexistent. I simply carried on by myself.

At one point he yelled, “Ouch!” and slapped at his wrist.

“That’s why we want the bug repellant. Black flies like that one can be really mean, but fortunately, they’re nearly gone for the rest of the summer. Mosquitoes, however, are another story.”

At last I turned us towards the eastern shore, looking for our site. Amazingly, I found it and it didn’t look like it had been disturbed, although there was some undergrowth which we’d need to clear away.

As I drove the front of the canoe up onto the shore, Dylan turned and asked in disbelief, “This is it? This is where you’ve been heading all day?”

“Yup. Well need to unload the canoe, put up the tent, and get a fire started so we can eat before it gets dark.”

Wading in the shallow water, we emptied the canoe and then pulled it all the way up on shore. The first thing Dylan did when we got out of the canoe was to search in his bag for his bug repellant, which he slathered on his arms and face.

I handed Dylan the bag that contained the tent with everything needed to put it up.

“Pick a site that looks fairly level and put up the tent,” I said.

He emptied the bag with its rods and fabric, looked at it, and said, “I haven’t the foggiest idea how to do it.”

“That’s okay,” I replied. “You’ll figure it out.”

Meanwhile, I began to clear the growth out of the fire pit. The old stones we had used were still there, placed in a circle. Then I began taking down some of the overgrowth. Fortunately, I’d remembered to bring a machete as well as an axe.

Holding up the two tools, I said to Dylan, “These you don’t touch without my permission.”

“Why?”

“Because they can be dangerous. I learned the hard way.”

“What happened?”

“When I was 12, I was splitting some wood and drove the axe into my foot. My parents loaded me into the canoe, where I lay on the bottom in shock. They made record time back to the car and drove me to the hospital in Millinocket. Fortunately, the doctor was able to save my foot.”

“Is that why you limp?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, and I don’t want to make another emergency trip to the hospital, so leave the axe and the machete alone.”

He went back to figuring out the tent, while I took the rope I’d brought, tied a large knot in one end, and threw it over a tree branch.

“What’s that for?” Dylan asked.

“We put our garbage in a bag and then hoist it where animals can’t reach it. If we just leave the garbage around, it’ll be eaten by morning, and we might be, too. Bears aren’t too discriminating.”

“Bears? There are bears here?”

“Yup, but if we don’t bother them, they probably won’t bother us.”

Dylan worked a little more on the tent and at last said, “I think I got it.”

Checking it over, I nodded and said, “See, I knew you could figure it out.”

We ate a supper of fried chicken and corn on the cob which we roasted in the fire. By then it was getting dark and I announced it was time for bed.

“Are we both sleeping in the tent?” Dylan asked.

“Yup, unless you want to be out here with the critters.”

“No thanks, but I didn’t bring any PJs.”

“You don’t need PJs. Just sleep in your underwear like I do.”

We took off our outer clothes and crawled into our sleeping bags. Dylan moved as far away from me as he could get, and I wondered if he was afraid of me and if so why.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Soon we were both asleep.

<<<< >>>>

I woke just as it was beginning to get light. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, unzipped the front of the tent, and went to relieve myself in the bushes. Then I put on some fresh bug repellant. When I got back to the tent, I woke Dylan.

“What time is it?” he moaned.

“Almost six. I let you sleep in a little.”

“Six!? I never get up before ten in the summer.”

“You do now. We need to make breakfast and then head out on the lake.”

He groaned and turned over, his back to me. I pulled his sleeping bag out of the tent with him in it.

“Shit,” he said, before he crawled out of his sleeping bag and looked around.

“Where do I pee?” he asked.

“In the woods,” I said. While he was doing that I dressed and built a fire from wood I had gathered the day before.

When he got back and had his clothes on, I handed him a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages and poured him a mug of coffee.

“I don’t drink coffee,” he said.

“That’s all there is unless you want to drink the lake.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “Got any sugar?”

“Nope.”

“Double damn.”

As he ate, he asked, “Why do we have to go out on the lake again?”

“To fish,” I answered. “Fish will be our main food while we’re here.”

“I hate fish,” he said.

“Well, I guess you’ll eat it when there’s nothing else.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.

I thought about my threat of a penalty for swearing, but I decided I’d save it for the f… word.

While we ate, I heated a kettle of water. When the plates and mugs were empty, I washed them in the hot water and laid them on a towel to dry.

“Time to go,” I announced.

“I don’t want to go. My shoulders hurt too much,” he complained.

“If you don’t fish you don’t eat,” I said.

“Damn,” he complained and finally walked toward the canoe.

The fishing rods were in the canoe along with the paddles.

“What do we use for bait?” he asked.

“Artificial lures. The lines are already baited. There’s a lot of fish in this lake just waiting to be caught.”

We pushed the canoe into the water, climbed in, and began to paddle. As I watched him, I could tell that his shoulders were sore from the day before, but I wasn’t going to pamper him.

We found a nice spot near the shore where there was some shade from the trees. As we waited for a bite, Dylan slapped at his arms a few times. Once he got a mosquito which splashed a little blood on him.

“Gross!” he complained.

Soon I got a bite and pulled in a nice lake trout. As I put it out of its misery by smacking its head on the thwart of the canoe, Dylan yelled, “I got one!” But a moment later he said, “Damn. It got away.”

“Have you ever been fishing before?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Well, try again,” I said. “I’ll watch, and maybe I can give you a hint or two.”

Almost immediately I saw his line go taut. “When you feel a tug, jerk the line up a little.”

He did and landed a good-sized perch.

“Okay. Now hold on tight with your left hand while you take the hook out with your right.”

“Doesn’t that hurt the fish?” he asked.

“It probably does a little but you’re gonna kill it before it can suffer much. Watch,” I said as I took the fish from him and whacked its head like I had with the trout.

“You killed it!” he protested.

“Yup, but it’s not suffering any more, is it?”

“But that’s not fair. It didn’t do anything to you.”

“Fair’s got nothing to do with it. You have to kill it before you eat it.”

“I don’t think I can eat something that we’ve killed.”

“You go to McDonald’s, don’t you?”

“Yah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“You like burgers?”

“Of course. Everyone does.”

“What are they made of?”

“Beef, I guess.”

“Beef comes from cows?”

“Yeah.”

“So didn’t someone kill the cow to make your burger? What did the cow do to you?”

“I never thought of that.”

“The only way you can avoid eating killed creatures is to become a vegetarian, and I doubt that you’d like that.”

He was silent for the rest of the morning, but he did catch ─ and kill ─ two more fish.

By noon we had caught more than enough for lunch and dinner and headed back to camp, where I showed Dylan how to clean and debone the fish. He was a little squeamish at first, but eventually he got his hands in the fish, cleaned out the guts, and then deboned it.

I put two of the fish in the frying pan and cooked them until they were sizzling. Then I put one on each plate, handed him a plate and poured him some coffee.

He took a sip and made a face, but I noticed he soon drank it down.

“How’s your fish?” I asked.

“I’m surprised. It’s good. Why haven’t I liked fish before?”

“Probably because you never had fish this fresh before and you never ate one you caught yourself. Being hungry probably has something to do with it too.”

After we finished cleaning up, he asked, “What now?”

“Now we take a little nap and then go swimming.”

“Um, I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“You don’t need one. We’ll just skinny dip. There’s nobody around to see us.”

“Ben, I’m not getting naked with you right here.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll swim and you can watch.”

We settled in the tent on our sleeping bags, and Dylan was asleep before I even got my eyes closed. I guess teen boys need a lot of sleep.

When I woke, I stripped off my clothes and went to the water. “Come swimming,” I called. “The water’s great.”

A few minutes later, he emerged from the tent in his underpants.

“Don’t swim in those,” I said. “You’ll have nothing to sleep in tonight.”

He paused for a moment, turned his back, slid the shorts off, and holding his hands in front of his privates, he turned and ran into the water.

“Shit!” he hollered. “It’s freezing.”

“Only for the first five minutes,” I said, smiling.

“That’s not funny,” he muttered.

I thought it was, but I didn’t say so. Soon, he was swimming smoothly and confidently.

“How far out can I go?” he asked.

“As far as you can get back from,” I answered. “You can swim all the way to the truck if you want, but don’t expect me to come and get you.”

“You’re a big help,” he said scornfully.

“I try,” I said, laughing.

When we finished swimming, he asked, “Where are the towels?”

“There are none. We just lie in the sun and let it dry us.”

He lay down, again with his hands covering his privates, while I lay with everything showing.

“You aren’t gonna rape me, are you?” he asked.

“Of course not. I’ve no interest. I’m not into boys.”

Before I knew it, he was asleep again. My goodness, that boy could sleep!

<<<< >>>>

The next morning, I decided it was time to introduce some exercise into Dylan’s regimen. I scouted out a tree limb which he could jump up to and hang from to do some chin-ups. The limb’s circumference was small enough that he could grasp it, and if he grabbed it near the tree, it would probably hold him.

I returned to the tent and woke him. As before, he groaned and complained but soon he was dressed and ready for breakfast – bacon and eggs. Thank goodness for the ice chest.

I let him rest for a little while after breakfast and then announced, “Exercise time.”

“I don’t exercise,” he said.

“I can tell,” I answered, “that’s part of the problem we’re gonna fix.”

“Shit. What do I have to do?”

“We’ll start with some chin-ups.”

“Where?” he asked, looking around for gym equipment.

I took him to the tree limb, told him to stand fairly near the trunk, and then jump.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked as he looked up at the limb.

“Nope,” I said.

He jumped up, reached for the limb, and fell. I showed him how to hold his hands and told him to try again. This time, he was able to grip the limb but could only pull himself up three times before he hit the ground. I could tell his shoulders were still a little tender, but I didn’t give him that as an out.

“Okay,” I said, “you’ll do those three times a day until you can do many, many more.” I told him to sit on the ground with his legs straight out in front of him.

“Let’s see how many sit-ups you can do.”

“No,” he protested. “I’m done.”

“You want to eat today?” I asked.

He managed five, grumbling the whole time.

After that, I got him running in place, with me trotting beside him. I wished there was somewhere we could run distances, but that wasn’t possible given the location.

Soon he was panting. He ran a little more, but I stopped him, not wanting him to pass out. I kept running.

“Damn,” he said, “you’re not even breathing hard. How long can you do that?”

“At this pace? All day, but it gets boring after a while.”

When I stopped, he muttered, “I’m glad exercising’s over!”

“Only for now,” I said. “You’ll do that routine at least three times a day to begin with.”

“No way!” he exclaimed.

“Yes way,” I answered before adding, “Let’s go fishing.”

By the time we returned to our campsite with our catch, it was time for lunch. I told him to gut and debone one of his fish while I did one for me.

After we’d finished lunch and cleaned up, he said he was going to take a nap.

“Exercise first and then the nap,” I said.

Looking at me, he said, “You’re a mean son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”

I laughed and said, “No, I’m really trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad’s a friend of mine and he’s worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, so far you’ve been doing a lousy job of it. You’re a physical wreck, you’ve got a rotten attitude, and you’ve been arrested a couple of times. You’ll never get far as long as those things continue.”

“Fuck!” was his only response.

“Remember the penalty,” I said. “If I hear that word again, you probably won’t get any supper.”

I forced him through his exercises and then let him nap. When he woke, we went for a swim, which was fortunate because we were both beginning to smell of sweat and bug repellant.

Before supper I made him do his third round of exercises. He could barely do a chin-up and running-in-place lasted about five minutes.

“How long do we have to keep doing these?” he panted.

“I’ve been doing them and other exercises most of my life,” I said. “If you stop, you’ll quickly lose the benefits you’ve gained.”

“Damn,” he muttered before going into the edge of the woods to gather fuel for our fire. Shit and damn seemed to be his favorite expletives.

Before we ate, I rubbed some cream into his shoulders, telling him that they would begin to feel better soon.

As we sat finishing our meal and looking out at the sunset, I could see Dylan was beginning to cry.

“What’s going on?” I asked, quietly.

“I’m just thinking of my mom,” he said so softly I could barely hear him. “She loved sunsets, and we used to watch them together.”

His tears turned to sobs. I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulder to remind him that he wasn’t alone. I knew I couldn’t really comfort him; his loss was too recent.

“Why did she leave me?” he asked. “I loved her, and I thought she loved me.”

“I can’t answer that and we may never know the answer,” I replied quietly.

As his sobs eventually decreased, he asked, “Is it okay if I just sit here for a little while?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I rose and cleaned up, putting the fish waste in the bag and raising it as I did every night, then washing the frying pan and plates. In time, Dylan went into the tent and crawled into his sleeping bag. It was a warm night, so I lay on top of mine, wondering for a time how I could help him with his grief. But I knew some things couldn’t be helped by an outsider, and this was something he had to deal with on his own.

<<<< >>>>

For the next few days, we followed the established routine. He complained, muttering to himself, but I could tell he was really trying with the exercises, and slowly, he was making progress.

As we neared the end of our two-week stay, I decided to stretch the trip for another two weeks, so one morning we put the empty ice chest in the canoe and launched ourselves onto the lake. I noticed that Dylan was paddling with more energy than he had two weeks earlier.

As we paddled, Dylan pointed and asked, “What’s that mountain?”

“It’s called Mount Katahdin.”

“Can we climb it?”

“Not this year. If you keep up your exercising, we could go next year. It can be a dangerous mountain. The weather sometimes gets bad quickly, and there are places where you could easily fall, including one trail that goes along a knife edge. You need to be in good shape to undertake it.”

Dylan had predicted that our truck would be missing, but it was sitting just where we’d left it. The first thing he did was to check that his phone was there and okay.

We put the ice chest in the truck and drove into Millinocket, primarily to resupply our food stock, but I had a couple of other tasks in mind, also.

I parked the truck in town, telling Dylan not to bring his phone with him. As we stood on the sidewalk, he asked, “Now what?”

“Now we’re going for a proper run,” I said.

He and I said “Shit!” in chorus. He looked at me and asked, “Are you making fun of me?”

“A little,” I said. “I decided you could take it.”

We faced down the walk and began jogging, enjoying the cool air as we ran. When we’d gone what I’d estimated was about a mile and a half, and Dylan was breathing hard I called a halt to the run. He immediately fell on the ground.

“It’s not good for you to lie down when you’ve been running. You need to get up and walk so that your heart can slow down gradually.”

We began to walk back the way we had come.

“So where do you want to eat lunch?” I asked. “I know you like McDonald’s, and there’s one here.”

“Can we go where we went before? That was much better beef.”

“Sure,” I said, “it’s your choice.”

We jogged slowly back to the restaurant. After our meal I left the table, telling Dylan that I wanted to make a short phone call. The waiter directed me to a payphone and I called Craig.

“When he answered and I identified myself, he said, “Don’t tell me you’re quitting.”

“Not at all,” I said. “We’re on a lake in Maine. I think we’re making progress, but I wanted to let you know that we’re going to stay another two weeks. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “How’s his attitude?”

“Getting better,” I answered. “He only swore once today, when I told him we were going to run. But he did run and he stuck to it.”

“That’s great,” Craig replied. “You must have him eating out of your hand.”

“Not quite,” I said, “but I think he’s begun to actually enjoy himself.”

I said goodbye, hung up the phone, and returned to the table where Dylan was waiting.

We went to a grocery store where we picked out some locally grown corn, a few other vegetables, a couple of bags of salad, eggs, bacon, liquid soap, and a bag of ice.

We loaded most of the food along with the ice in the chest and drove back to our launch site, where the canoe waited just as we’d left it.

Once the ice chest and our other purchases were in the canoe, we paddled back to our camp. On the way, I handed Dylan a fishing rod and told him to catch our dinner. Soon he had four good-sized fish in the bottom of the canoe.

At our site we unloaded the canoe and brought it up on shore.

When we finished, he asked, “Can we go swimming?”

“Sure,” I said, and without further ado we both stripped and ran into the water.

<<<< >>>>

We always tried to save enough firewood to cook breakfast, but that morning we had none left, so we searched farther into the woods than we had before. When we had enough, I said to Dylan, “Okay, take us back to the camp.” He turned and headed through the woods confidently.

We walked for some time before Dylan asked, “Shouldn’t we be back at the camp by now?”

“Yup,” I said.

“So why aren’t we?”

“Because you headed the wrong way. That’s very easy to do in the woods, Dylan. That’s why I didn’t want you to wander off alone. Follow me.”

He did, and a few minutes later we were back at the camp.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Well, until recently, I’ve been in these woods every summer for years, and I’ve had time to learn my way around. As long as the sun is out, I don’t get lost.”

He looked up and said, “Oh.”

When we had cooked our bacon and eggs and drunk our coffee, I put a pot of water on the fire to heat.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“We’re going to wash our clothes,” I replied. “They’re getting rather gamey.”

I took the pot off the fire and poured in some liquid clothes detergent. When I’d finished washing, I poured out the water and went to the lake for more, which I used to rinse the clothes. Then I laid them on the ground to dry in the sun and we went to the chin-up tree to start Dylan’s exercises.

As I told his father, Dylan was doing better with his exercises. The biggest change I saw in him was his attitude. He took the exercises as a challenge now, always trying to do a little better than the day before.

We still had some morning time left to go fishing, so we put the canoe in the water and climbed in. Dylan had quite taken to fishing now that he was over feeling sorry for the fish.

At one point I looked up towards our campsite.

“Dylan,” I said quietly, “don’t make any noise but look at our camp.”

“Oh, my god,” he whispered, “bears!”

Sure enough, a female black bear with her two cubs was exploring the site, sniffing around and likely looking for food. I knew we hadn’t left anything out but I was sure the scent of our morning bacon was still strong enough for her to detect.

Eventually she gave up, and taking her cubs with her, she melted into the woods.

“That was awesome!” breathed Dylan.

“We’ll have to be extra careful from now on. She might return if she smells cooking again.”

We decided to have a cold lunch before Dylan’s exercises and our nap.

That night, soon after we crawled into our sleeping bags, I heard snuffling around the tent. I pulled out some bear spray from my backpack just in case we ran into trouble.

“She’s back, isn’t she?” whispered Dylan.

“Yup,” I whispered. “Let’s hope she doesn’t get mad and decide to destroy our tent.” We lay silent and listening. After a while, we heard her move off once again, although she made remarkably little sound as she walked into the woods.

In the morning, we found some bear scat, small enough to probably have come from one of the cubs.

As we ate breakfast, I said, “Three more days and we’ll be heading home. Will you be happy about that?”

He thought a moment before saying, “To be honest, I don’t know. I kinda like it here in the woods, with the lake right there. We’re pretty free to do what we want and I’ve enjoyed learning to fish. But I’m not sure how things will go with my dad. He usually seems so distant, like he doesn’t care what I do as long as I don’t interfere with his work.”

“I think he does care,” I said. “After all, he was pretty upset with your soliciting sex.”

“Yeah, but was that because he cared about me or because he was afraid that it might affect his job?”

“I can’t answer that one, but you may need to find out.”

“If I bring it up, he’ll just get mad. Can you ask him?”

“No. This is between him and you.”

“So how do I find out?”

“Well, the two of you have had a four-week cooling off period. Maybe now you can talk reasonably with each other, without him blowing his top and without you being rude and snarky.”

He sighed. “Okay, I’ll try, but I’m not looking forward to it. I’d much rather just stay here with you.”

“That’s not an option, and it would only put off trying to resolve the problem.”

When we finished the morning dishes and his exercises we went fishing. Each day we had fished in a different spot. Occasionally, we had lost a lure, but I had plenty.

The morning was warm and humid and beginning to cloud over. As we fished the wind came up and the water grew choppy. I began to wonder if the wind, which was blowing out from the shore, would make it difficult to return, so I suggested that we stop fishing and head for the camp. With the wind in our faces and the water becoming increasingly choppy, it took us more effort than usual to get back to shore. There we made sure that everything was either tied down or secured in some way. As the first drops began to fall, we retreated to our tent.

A few times we’d had rain at night, but until then there hadn’t been any during the day.

Soon, the rain was pouring down in torrents, pounding on the tent so loudly we couldn’t hear each other when we tried to talk. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. I became aware that Dylan was shaking.

“We’re okay,” I said in his ear. “It’s just a summer storm and it’ll soon pass.”

Just then the was a flash of light and a loud CRACK.

“Oh, god,” he moaned.

“You’re fine,” I said. “that’s probably the worst we’ll get.”

Another loud crack, just a little farther away sent him into a spasm of fear.

“If you hear it, you know that it didn’t hit you,” I said. “Do you know how to tell how far away the storm is?”

“No.”

“Okay. The next time there’s lightning, start counting seconds until you hear the thunder. If you get to five, that means the lightning flash was five miles away, or so I’ve been told.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of much, but I am sure that the longer the time between the flash and the sound of thunder the farther away the lightning is.”

In another half hour the wind had died down, the rain had stopped, and the sun had come out. We emerged from our tent into some early fall air, cooler and less humid.

“Can we go swimming?” Dylan asked.

“Sure, after you’ve done your exercises.”

“I was afraid you’d remember that.”

“The thing is, Dylan, if you skip doing your exercises, you’ll lose ground quickly. It takes much less time to lose ground than it does to get it back.”

He mumbled something to himself and went off to his chinning tree. He was up to 15 at a time now.

I had always enjoyed swimming in the lake, and I was glad to see that Dylan liked it too.

Later, when we were lying in the sun, he said, “You told me that next year we could climb that mountain. Did you mean it?”

“Absolutely, if you keep up the exercising.”

“How will you know if I don’t?”

“Well, first I’ll ask you and expect an honest answer. But second, I’ll be able to tell just by looking at you. Exercising changes the way your body looks and feels. In these four weeks you’ve probably lost a few pounds of flab, replacing it with developing muscle.”

<<<< >>>>

The time came when we were nearly out of supplies and we needed to head home. We rolled up our sleeping bags, dismantled the tent, packed away the cooking gear, and took down the trash bag from the tree. When we had loaded everything in the canoe, we put it in the water and paddled back to our launch site, Dylan paddling all the way. We found the truck, as I had predicted, unmolested.

Putting our gear in the truck, we drove to Millinocket and our favorite restaurant. After we’d eaten, I gassed up the truck and we headed for home, hours away.

As we neared Dylan’s home he began to grow nervous.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m worried about how my dad will be. Will he welcome me or will he say a brief hello and return to his computer and work?”

“Dylan,” I said, “you’ve had time to think and to grow in many ways these last four weeks. So has he. Don’t anticipate trouble that probably won’t happen.”

When we finally pulled into the driveway, Dylan reluctantly opened his car door and stepped out. Together, we walked up to his front door where I rang the bell.

Almost immediately, Craig opened the door, a big smile on his face. “Come in; come in both of you.

We stepped into the hall and he motioned us to the living room. Turning to Dylan, he said, “Tell me all about it.”

Dylan began hesitantly, but as he spoke his voice grew stronger and his pride and enthusiasm reflected in his face. He talked about the lake, our fishing and swimming, about learning to like fish and coffee, about doing his exercises, and even about learning to refrain from swearing.

His father listened closely, seemingly hanging onto every word. When Dylan finally wound down, Craig said, “You’ve changed, haven’t you? And the swearing is the smallest part of the change. I can tell by the way you fill your T-shirt that you’ve bulked up some, but mostly I hear a positivity and a pride in you that wasn’t there when you left four weeks ago.”

He stood and walked over to his son and wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging him, and saying, “I want you to know that I’ve had time to think and I’ve changed, too. I’m working less, and I promise you that I will no longer work when you’re home. I want to be available to you. When your mother left, we were both hurt, and we took that hurt out on each other. No more of that! I love you and I want us to get to know each other better.

Shortly after that, I drove to my own home, where I hosed down the canoe and took the rest of the equipment into my house to clean and prepare it for the next time. I was sure that Dylan would hold me to the promise of climbing Mt. Katahdin. Perhaps his father would join us.