This is the first thing I ever wrote. I remember staying up all night and banging it out on my parents’ old Epson computer they had sitting up in their bedroom, two-finger typing into the wee hours and being unable to explain why they couldn’t have their room back because there was this story inside of me that needed to come out; how I knew that I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t say whatever it was I felt like I needed to say. At the time, I had no idea what that “it” was I was trying to express, and nowhere is this more evident than in the fact that I couldn’t even come up with a title for the story that at the time meant so much to me. But looking at it now, twelve years later and through the eyes of someone who refuses to believe it possible for him to be approaching thirty, I realize that what I was saying, advertently or otherwise, was that this is what it feels like to be 16 years old. And more specifically, this is what it felt like for me to be 16. In my sixteen year old world, these were the things that mattered most. And it’s funny because no matter how many spelling mistakes and atrocities against the parenthetical statement I come across, I can’t help but smile when I read this. Partly because, to this day, I’m still writing about the same kinds of things that I was back then (fiction bordering on the autobiographical in an attempt to somehow chronicle what it feels like to be in a particular place at a particular time), using the same references to music in an effort to evoke meaning, and beginning half of my sentences with ‘and’, ‘like’, ‘but’, and ‘because’. But I smile more so because when I read about this sixteen year old kid, I’m immediately brought back to that time in my life when we actually acted the way these kids did, we talked to and insulted one another with the same ease and enthusiasm, and we were innocent enough to believe that things might one day work out the way we had always hoped they would. When I look back on the things I’m writing today, I can only hope that I might one day experience a comparable sense of nostalgic longing. By Sean McCallum Looking back on my life, I’d say that I had a pretty good one. We were never too rich, never too poor, I guess you could say that we were the average Canadian family (for our area at least, which closely resembled the United States). We never had any fancy cars, or went on any trips to exotic islands, but we were happy. School was okay, I was pretty good at it, but I could never understand the concept of homework. I mean, you work for 6 and a half hours at school, and then you come home and have to do another couple of hours work for no apparent reason, which probably explains why I never seemed to have it done. And I can remember exam time like it was yesterday. The only word that I can use to describe that time of year is “HELL”. But with the bad, there comes a good, and that was the summer holidays. Te me, this was the perfect time of year, and where I was most happy. I experienced alot during those times. One particular time stands out. I was sixteen years old. I was kind of short (5 foot 9), but I had a fairly big build (I guess it came from flipping all those burgers at McDonald’s). I had just recently passed my road test to get my licence, and just bought a 1969 volkswagon bug off my uncle who lived in New Jersey. I lived in one of those subdivisions where it seemed like nothing ever happened. Sure there was the occasional fire here and there, maybe a robbery once and a while, but nothing ever really happened to us (me and my friends). One day, we got an idea. My friend Dave who lived in a farm somewhere up in Alliston, had grandparents who owned a cottage up near Algonquin. Anyways, our idea was that we were going up to their cottage for a weekend. Well, we talked Dave’s parents into letting us use the cottage (I’m still not sure how because at the time we were a bunch of crazy irresponsible teenagers who cared about nothing except for girls, hockey and beer), and so our adventure began. “Come on, get in” I said to Gordie as he jumped over the side of my red convertable. Gord was a friend of mine that I knew since I was nine years old. He wasn’t too bright but he was a good guy. “I still can’t believe that big Frank wasn’t allowed to come” he said to me. Frank was a year younger than us but he was the biggest guy we knew. He used to be a fat little kid and he looked kind of chineese, but he hit his growth spurt at the age of thirteen and he now stood 6 foot 5, and weighed 215 pounds; I could still smoke him though. “I know eh! But it’s not really his fault that his parents are nerds. They never let him do anything.” I said, and I meant it. His parents were the most over-protective people I’d ever met in my life. “Ah who cares” Gordie said. “Let’s get going. We got a long drive ahead of us.” “‘Kay, lets go pick up Ron and Homer. Ron slept over at Homer’s house” I said. “Yeah, I think they have something between them” Gordie said. I laughed. We were always kidding around, calling each other fags and homo’s and other degrading names like all kids do. We pulled up to Homer’s house and saw Ron and Homer waiting on the porch. They hopped into the car with exited faces. Ron was a pretty big guy himself, but nothing compared to Frank. As for Homer (his name was Mike but we gave him this nickname for some reason which I never knew: I still think he looked like Homer from “The Simpsons”.) people who didn’t know him thought he was kind of a nerd, but he was one of those guys who you could never hate. He made us laugh and he was a loyal friend. He would take a beating for us and never even think twice about it. The only real talent that he had was that he was double jointed and could do this weird thing with his arms. He called it “the Gremlin” for some strange reason and it was great for picking up chicks. On the way to go pick up Lennie and Lorne we passed big Frank’s house. We felt kind of sorry for him, not being aloud to go and all, so we decided to honk the horn and yell at him to make him feel worse. As we passed his house laughing, I could see a huge ogar of a man running down the driveway with a sleeping bag in one hand, and a huge bag in the other. He had a terrified look on his face, kind of like he’d just walked in on his mother getting undressed. I couldn’t help but laugh at this massive figure who looked like he’d just dropped a load in his pants. I stopped the car and when he reached the back seat he was out of breath. “Frank, what the hell are you doing” we all yelled at once. “DRIVE!” he yelled. I tried to ask him what he was thinking but he just told me to drive the car… fast. On the way to Lorne’s house Frank finally got himself straight and began to speak. “I’m going. I don’t care what my fat ugly mother says. I’m fifteen years old and she can’t tell me what to do anymore. If she wants to ground me…” “You’ll start to cry and go to your room?” I said kiddingly. “No! I’ll slap her. That’s what I’ll do.” We all cheered. It was as if Frank had just climbed over the wall that his parents had put in front of him controlling his life. He had never disobeyed his parents before let alone snuck out for four days to go to an unsupervised cottage 3 and a half hours away from any parents. “Frank, you rule” Ron said to him. We all agreed that he did. This was going to be the best weekend of our lives and nothing was going to stop us. We pulled into Lorne’s driveway where he and Lenny were waiting for us. Lorne was a cool guy. He didn’t care what anybody said about him or thought of him. He had a short temper and he was the kind of guy that if he was your friend you loved him, but if he wasn’t, you hated him. Lenny was the best athlete I knew. He was going to the NHL for sure, and he was being scouted by 3 major league baseball teams. We all piled into the car (there were 7 of us, and if you think that’s tough getting into perhaps the worlds smallest car, you should have seen us when we picked up Dave) and hit the highway. The drive up to Alliston was pretty cool since it was my first real long drive. We tried picking up chicks on the highway but it was of course unsuccessful. We were trying to talk but it was near impossible to hear each other between the turning of the loud diesel engine and the wind blowing in our hair as we cruised the 400 doing about 120. We did the sort of things that all kids do in the car without parents; sticking our heads out the window, making obscene gestures, laughing at people: believe me, it was fun at the time. We reached Dave’s house at about 9 am. He lived in an old farm house on about 50 acres of land. There was an old barn that had been falling apart since the day it was built, and it was full of chickens, rabbits and cats. Behind the barn there was a pond that acted as an ice rink in the winter, and a home to a family of ducks in the summer. I remember the time when we (me and Dave) built a raft out of barrels and some wood. We must have thought that we were Huck Finn or something ‘cause we took that cheap excuse for a raft out on the pond in mid April and as soon as we were in the middle, that thing totally collapsed. It seemed funny at the time, but when we got inside and started to thaw out, we paid the price. Me and Dave had been friends since the day we were born. Our parents were friends back in High School and we carried on the tradition. He kind of had a tough life because his parents split up when he was about thirteen. And although he didn’t show it, and he said it didn’t bother him, I knew that it was eating him up inside. As we pulled into the driveway, it was just like every other time. I honked the horn and the dog came running out of the barn. It started barking at us and tried to jump into the car. “Down Boy!” I yelled, but he of course didn’t listen. I turned off the car and we all jumped out (no body uses the door when you have a convertable) and grabbed the pile of stuff that Dave had (we voted that Dave bring the food). It took us about 15 minutes to jam everything into the trunk, and do so without squishing any of our precious food. We grabbed the key from Dave’s mom, thanked her for letting us use the cottage, and took turns using the tree (there was no way that I was going to stop for a bathroom break). Everyone but Homer took a leak. “I don’t have to go. How many times do I have to tell you guys? I promise I won’t have to go later on” Homer said. “I know you will” Frank cried. “Just force it out” “Shut up guys, leave him alone. Just get into the car” I said. It was 9:30 and we still had another 2 hours before we reached the cottage. We jumped in, and it took awhile to get settled. Eight people in one car is tough to do. We had it so that there were three people in the front, and the five smallest guys in the back. We drove down that lonely dirt road and eventually got onto highway 11. That’s the one you see jammed with traffic every Friday afternoon in the summertime, with families in their station wagons doing the cottage 500, trying to have a relaxing weekend. I was glad that we didn’t have to deal with that sort of traffic, seeing as we left on a Thursday morning. We hadn’t been on the road for more than twenty minutes when Homer whined “Hey guys, I have to go to the bathroom” “What a nerd” we all yelled. “How many times did we tell you to take a piss at Dave’s. I can’t believe you.” “Yeah but I didn’t have to go then” he pleaded with us. “Save it” I said. “There’s no way in hell I’m stopping for you.” We all laughed at him for awhile and then did the sort of things all people do when they’re trapped in an uncomfortable car for a long period of time; complained and fought. “I’m hungry!” “I have to go to the bathroom! (Homer)” “Are we there yet?” were some of the things you might have heard coming from our car. “Come on guys, I really have to go” Homer said. I noticed that he was almost in tears from holding it in, so I decided that we would stop about 5 miles ahead at a restaurant I’m sure you’re all familiar with; WEBBERS. This was the place where everybody stopped on their way up North. About 15 years ago they built a bridge going across the highway so that people coming home could stop in for a burger. I hadn’t been there for about 5 years, and we were all getting hungry, so this was a good place to stop. We pulled into the parking lot which was packed as usual. We all got out, and walked to the line which was about 15 people long. Homer ran just about as fast as I had ever seen him go as he headed for the bathroom. I ordered (like everybody else) a burger, fries and a coke. We sat down at a picnic table and feasted. It was like always; Frank enhaled his meal and was done before I started. “Why do you do that?” Gordie asked this question everytime he saw Frank eat. “It’s the way I eat. I like doing it this way. And besides, what does my eating have to do with you.” It’s a waste of food” Gordie would always say. “You don’t even get to taste it.” They would go on like this for awhile while the rest of us ate. Ron always seemed to get it all over his face and clothes. Lorne gave most of his food away as usual, while Gordie savored it the whole way down. Lenny, Homer and myself were the only ones who ate normal. We finished up and went back to the car. As I waited for them to get in, I suddenly realized just how hot it was. It was about 30 degrees celcius and it was only twenty after ten. It was very humid, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Once everybody was settled in, I took off my shirt and set it on the cheap plastic seat behind me. I started the car and we were off once again. We fought the whole way up about nothing, it was just something to pass the time with. It was Lenny and Lorne who started with each other, the rest of them took sides and started throwing insults back at each other. I couldn’ t participate in the battle because I was concentrating on driving, but I got the occasional cheap shot in. It seemed to get hotter with every mile we drove, even with the top down. There was nothing I wanted more than to get to the cottage, walk down to the dock, sit on one of those fold out uncomfortable chairs, dip my feet into the luke warm water (it was a small lake, so the water was relatively warm in the summer), and open up a cold one… Mountain dew that is. It was about 1 o’clock when we turned onto the highway that led into our town. All of the questions started coming in that you would usually hear; How big is the town? What can we do there? What are the girls like? Is there a beach? Me and Dave were the only ones who had been there before so we had to answer. Most of the time I just said “Wait ‘til we get there”. It was quarter after 1 when we reached that sign “KEARNEY pop. 700” Yes, 700 people. That was the population of the people who lived there in the winter, so in the summer time, the population grew to about 3000. About 100 feet down the road there was a big banner that read “Kearney Regata July 23-24”. Seeing as today was July the twenty-first, I guess we would be in town for it. We must have forgotten to tell our parents. The Kearney regata was like a festival where the whole town and other people got together for a giant party. There were activities for the kids (tug of war, pie eating contest) activities for adults (beer gardens, bingo) and then there was the activity for us: The eight man canoe race. I can remember the first time I witnessed this. I was about 10 years old, and I didn’t really want to participate because nobody would go with me, and I wanted to make a fool of myself with my friends, not a bunch of strangers. Anyways, I was watching from a picnic table on the dock with a bunch of drunken teenagers. The race began with about 20 canoes full of people. Now, you’d think that with eight people in a canoe, they would surely tip over, but this rarely happens. Most of the time, they just sink. You see, this isn’t a normal canoe race; in the eight man canoe race there are no paddles. The participants are forced to use their hands to paddle across the lake. Anyways, these drunken teenagers were watching their buddies struggling to stay afloat. One of them noticed that they were practically submerged and yelled out “Don’t worry, I’ll save you!”. He then proceeded to open a new can of beer, chug it down without even breathing, smash the can over his head, and then climbed to the top of the picnic table, where he leaped off, preforming without a doubt, the best, loudest and most painful belly flop I had ever seen. He then swam about 300 meters to save his friends who were wearing life jackets, who probably ended up saving him. I guess it was the thought that counted. We pulled up into town. It consisted of two general stores, a snack bar, a gas station, a junk yard, a craft and antique store, and of course the ever popular beer store. All of this was overlooking a small lake which made it look so pretty. Sure, it doesn’t sound like much, but it was home, for that weekend anyway. We stopped in to one of the general stores to pick up some ice, pop, and other essentials like chips, hamburgers, hotdogs, marshmallows, bread, cereal and milk. Luckily, we all brought 40 dollars each to help pay for our weekend. We all jammed into the car and took off up the dirt road which went up a huge hill, around a couple of turns, you get the picture. Ten minutes later, we were home. The cottage. That says it all. Everyone has a different idea of their cottage. This one, like the town, wasn’t much. It was a one story structure without a basement. When you walked in, you were in the kitchen which was about ten feet by seven feet. Just barely enough room to cook in. There was just a counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, dining room, rec. room, and sometimes bedroom. There was a big table on one side, two couches, two chairs, shelves filled with books, a woodburning stove and a TV that seemed to always get only one channel. In the back there were four bedrooms that were capable of sleeping nine people. It was perfect. As for outside the cottage, there was a picnic table, a few chairs and a shed that surrounded a fire pit. We spent many nights with our parents hudled around the fire listening to our dad’s tell dirty jokes. This time it would be us telling the dirty jokes. There was a path that led down a hill to the lake. About halfway down there were three boats. A paddle boat, a canoe (with paddles), and a row boat. When you got to the lake, there was a big dock that had been installed a few years ago. “I’m home” was the first thing I said, and I meant it. “Hasn’t changed a bit” Dave said with a smile on his face. We hopped out of the car and grabbed our stuff out of the trunk. It took awhile to get everything out because it was jammed in so tightly. We finally got our stuff out and went inside. When I stepped in I could smell that smell. It was like when you walk into an antique store, you can smell the oldness. Nobody had been in here for a year and it showed. I didn’t mind it to much because I thought it gave the place an atmosphere, but the other guys did. “It smells in here” Homer whined. “Yeah, like your mother” Lorne said. He could incorporate a mom joke into any sentence. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry” Of course this was Frank, because he was always hungry. We unpacked our bags, and set up our sleeping arrangements. I was on top of the bunkbeds, with Homer underneath, and Lenny in the other bed. Dave and Ron were in another room, Lorne and Gordie were together, and big Frank had to sleep by himself because there was no room for him anywhere else. We spent the rest of the day swimming, and doing cottage things. We ate hamburgers that we cooked in the fire pit for dinner, played cards for awhile and then went to bed. It had been a long day, and we wanted to get rested up for the weekend ahead of us where we would surely lose many hours of sleep. The next day was pretty laid back. Most of the time was spent fishing. It was kind of tradition to try to catch the clam lake monster, which was supposed to be this huge 20 pound pike. Not only did I not believe that there was a clam lake monster, I also didn’t believe that there were any fish in all of clam lake. I know that sounds pretty unrealistic but it was true, for me at least. In all of my years going up to that cottage, I never caught a fish. It seemed like every year somebody caught a fish except for me. This year was no exception. “Guys, there’s no fish in this lake! How many times do I have to tell you” was my argument. “Sure there is, I’ve caught thousands of fish here” Dave said. “Yeah, but I haven’t. Come on guys, let’s find something else to do.” It didn’t work. They all wanted to go fishing, and even though I knew that I wouldn’t even get a nibble, I went along anyways. We put four people in each boat 9the paddle boat and the row boat, which was about twice the size of anything you had ever seen). We ripped off all of the cobwebs and bugs and put the boats in the water for the first time. We paddled out into the middle of the lake and stopped. Frank was supposed to be the expert fisherman, so he cast his line out first. We all followed him. We were using lures because we didn’t have any worms. I’m sure that you know that when you’re using lures, you’re supposed to cast out and then reel it back in. I kept this up for approximately ten minutes, and then just let it sit there (this lazyness explains why I’d never caught a fish before). Gordie, Lorne and Lenny soon did the same as me, so we were just sitting in our row boat listening to our radio. “Give it up Frank, it’s not worth it” Gordie yelled to him. “You’re never going to catch anything” Lenny agreed. “I told you guys there was no fish in this excuse for a lake” I said. It was starting to look like my words were the truth when… “I got one!” Frank yelled. “Shut up, you don’t even know what a fish looks like” Lorne said. I looked over at the “fishing” boat to see what was going on. I saw Frank’s rod was bending alot and it looked like he actually had a fish. “What do I do?” he asked. I could tell by the look on his face that he had never been near a fishing rod, never mind having a five pound northern pike on the end of it. This so called “expert” had no idea what he was doing and was doing a great job showing it. “Give me that” Dave commanded. He was the only one who actually knew what to do with a fish. He calmly reeled it in, stuck the net into the water, and scooped it out like a Baskin Robin’s employee would do to a heaping ball of heavenly hash. “What a beauty” Ron exclaimed. The fish was huge. It had pointed jaws and was snapping at us. It kind of looked like something out of a jaws movie (an attempted joke that even Gordie could understand). “Are we going to eat it.” Frank asked, never caring about anything but food as usual. “Sure, does anybody no how to cook fish?” I asked. You’ll have to remember that we were guys and all our lives our mother’s had been cooking for us. “You should no how to, McDonald’s Man” Lenny said. He was always trying to insult my job, but it never seemed to work. “I can do it” Dave said proudly. “I’ve seen my old man do it many times before”. “Great, let’s head to shore and get cooking” Frank said. I thought that was a good idea. It was only two o’clock, but I was starved already. We paddled to shore and brought the boats in. We climbed up that dirt path that led to the cottage, took our shoes (I had sandals. I could never wear shoes in the summer, and besides, sandals gave you a real cool tan) off outside because they were filled with sand and water, and went inside. Dave the chef prepared us a meal that I will never forget. Northern pike, bacon and dorito’s. Sure it doesn’t sound too gourmet or even like it belong’s in the same supermarket, but hey, you take what you can get right? (we were also too lazy to cook up anything else). The fish was cooked in pancake batter, just the same way my uncle up in Iron Bridge made it. It was fried in a pan full of butter, and to me, it was God’s way of proving that there was a heaven. It was probably the best meal I had ever eaten. That night we all decided to sleep outside. We hadn’t done that since the time we went camping with our fathers where Homer’s dad took a spaz on us for being to loud. What he didn’t know was that he was about twice as loud as us with his snoring. It rained that whole weekend and at times was below zero, so we never really had a chance to sleep out under the stars. It was about nine-thirty when Ron lit the fire. We took our sleeping bags out of the cottage and set them up in a circle hudled around the fire. We opened up three packages of hotdogs, and two bags of marshmallows. I cooked my wiener, took it off of my stick and dipped it into the big jar of mustard that we brought. We didn’t need any ketchup or relish or any girl’s stuff like that. We were men (or so we thought) out in the wilderness, just us, the forest and the stars up above. It was perfect. Even our charred hotdogs were perfect. No matter how bad the food that was cooked over the open fire tasted, it always seemed perfect. I guess it had something to do with being up north in the wilderness, or maybe it was that stuff in lake Ontario’s water finally getting to us. No matter what the reason, everything was just how it should have been. We talked deep into the night about things that had no relevance what so ever, but it was entertaining at the time. Things like which girl had the biggest (wait a minute, is this rated PG?)… EARS! Yeah that’s it. Which girl had the biggest ears. We talked about what we were going to do the next day, how many chicks we were going to pick up, what we’d done over the summer (absolutely nothing but spend money on nothing) things that happened in the past that were so funny that you just had to be there. I think you get the point. It was the kind of talk that guys did when there were no girls around that you had to impress, no parents you had to watch your language around, and no people you didn’t know so that they would make fun of you later on. It was just the guys. A male bonding sort of thing, you know? We soon fell asleep. I was the last one awake (as usual). I just laid there listening to the fire crackle, every once and awhile hearing a burst of sparks. I kept my eyes open and looked up at the clearing overhead, where there were no leaves or branches. They were all to the outside of my view. I could see thousands if not millions of stars lining the sky. It was a clear night with not a cloud in the sky. I could hear every move that was made in the forest surrounding me. A woodchuck trampling branches as it scurried from tree to tree. The frogs belching in the lake below us. It’s funny how a forest can change from day to night. During the day, it is alive with laughter and sounds of the city, almost like being at home. But in the night, it is just the opposite. There are no voices, no music, no sound except for that of the inhabitants of the forest. There are no lights from the city, it seems darker, more peaceful in the forest. It can be kind of scary if you think about it. Nobody nearby to hear you yell for help, nobody to see if you are in trouble. I tried not to think about it. I soon drifted off to sleep. I woke up the next morning, looked at Homer’s watch (I never wore one. I don’t know why, I just didn’t feel right wearing a watch) and was surprised to see that it was only 5:30 am. It was light out, and it seemed like about 8 o’clock, not five-thirty. I took a look at the fire which still had some red coals in it, and then got out of my sleeping bag. I noticed that it was very cold out, so I went inside to get my jacket. I put it on, slipped into my sandals, and walked down the path that led to the dock. I got down to the lake and was amazed at how quiet it was. There were no boats running up and down like during the day. There were no frogs cherping like at night. There were no loons calling to each other like there soon would be. It was just me and the lake, with a little bit of steam coming off of it, floating with the morning breeze that was passing by. There were no waves, not even any ripples. It looked to pretty to disturb, so I went back up to the fire and went back to sleep. The rest of the guys woke up at nine o’clock, and I opened my eyes at about nine-thirty. I was soaked with sweat because it was scorching hot and humid. I went into the cottage to grab some pancakes that Lorne and Frank had whipped up. We all sat around the table talking about how we were going to win the eight man canoe race. “So Dave, what’s this race like?” Lenny asked. “What’s the prize we get if we win?” Lorne wanted to know. All he ever cared about was winning. “Will there be any food there?” Frank of course. He had already eaten six pancakes and was on his way up for more. “Take it easy guys” Dave said. “You’ll just have to wait and see. All I know is that it (the race) is being sponsored by the beer store. Word had it that the prize is a two-four of Molson Ex”. “Woo Hoo!” we all screamed. This was great. Not only was it illegal and immoral for us to drink beer, it was going to be our prize for winning the eight-man canoe race. “Hey guys, don’t get too excited. You have to be nineteen to claim the prize.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered” Lorne said. He whipped out his wallet and pulled out the fake I.D. that he had. He found it in some stolen wallet near his house. The wallet had no money, no cards or cheques in it, but it did have a driver’s licence without a picture. He took it thinking that it might come in handy someday and that day was today. “All we have to do is give this to Frank and let him sign us up. He looks like he’s twenty-five as it is. They probably won’t even ask for I.D., but if they do, his new name is “Bob Schut”. What a stupid name.” We all agreed. It looked like we were going to be in the race. We finished cleaning up from breakfast, cleaned up ourselves and piled into the car and headed towards town. We had the top down and the radio up loud so that all of the neighboring people knew that we were coming. We came over the top of the hill and looked down on the town below us. It was jammed with people like I had never seen it before. There were cars parked up and down the sides of the streets, and the beach was packed with people. We had the radio tuned to the only station that it would get, which was an oldies station. The guys said they didn’t like it, but I knew deep down inside they did because they knew all of the words to every song that was played (at least I did). As we looked down at our destination, the whole reason we had come and basicly what our summer revolved around, my all time favorite song came on: “I saw her standing there” by the Beatles. I turned it up as loud as that cheap radio that all Volkswagons had would go, and even though the destortion probably made it sound bad, to me, that song never sounded or felt better. I’ll never forget that moment. We parked the car beside an old house and leaped out of the car. I hid the keys under the floor mat like I had always done, and followed the guys towards the snack bar. We got our food, and went to the beach. We laid down on the beach and just watched the endless number of girls walking by. It was steaming hot out and I took off my shirt so that I wouldn’t sweat it up. Three girls walked by and of course, Frank, Ron and Gordie stood up and tried swinging their moves on them (those three guys would go for anything that moved, and sometimes things that didn’t). “Hey baby, what’s your sign?” Ron called out. They giggled the way girls do when they see guys they like. They started whispering to each other and I knew that they would be with them (Frank, Ron and Gordie) in a matter of minutes. “Ahh… Do you have the time?” Gordie asked. He was good at making a fool of himself, but girls always liked it. Franks line was always the same: “You wanna go get something to eat?” They said yes and the six of them went off together. I told them to be down by the main dock at 2:30 so we could meet them, and prepare for the race which began at three. The next girl that caught our attention was one of those that are common in small towns. You know the kind, with the bad reputation. She was a local, fairly good looking, and looking at us. “Hey You!” she yelled at us. “Me?” Lorne shrieked out in anticipation. “No, you over there” she was pointing directly at Homer. It couldn’t be. A female found Homer somewhat attractive? This couldn’t be happening. “Y…Yes” he said nervously as he gulped down a big wad of saliva. It was quite obvious that he had never had a girlfriend before, but there’s always a first time for everything; even Homer. “Ya you. Come here and talk to me” she called back. Homer looked at me and I motioned towards her. He got up and walked quickly towards her. Before he got to her he looked back and I told him to meet us at the dock at 2:30, just like the other guys. “Go get her” I whispered to him. He got to her and she put her arm around him. They walked off into town and all Lorne, Lenny Dave and I could do was watch in astonishment. We were on the beach talking about what Homer was thinking and doing, when four girls appeared on a beach blanket behind us. They were laughing and smoking cigarettes, and it was only a matter of time before we all started talking. Three of them invited us to go swimming with them, Lorne, Lennie and Dave naturally accepted. I decided to stay and talk to the girl that I thought was perfect. They ran into the water and I didn’t see them for another hour or so. I started talking to this girl and found out everything about her. Her name was Lucy, and back then, last names weren’t important. We talked about life, what it was like living in a small town like Kearny, and a big town (sort of) like Oakville. I was starting to like her for who she was, and not just what she was. Before I knew it, it was twenty after two, and time for me to go. I left and told her that I would meet her at the street dance that night. I got to the docks at exactly two-thirty five. “Where were you?” Lennie asked, like it was a big deal being five minutes late. “Yeah, come on, let’s sign up for the race so we can win our two-four” Dave said. Lorne got his wallet and pulled out the driver’s lisence. He handed it over to Frank and gave him some last minute advice. Frank wasn’t good at lying, but we’d come this far and it was no time to back down. “Come on Frank, you can do it” Homer encouraged. “They won’t even ask for I.D. Do it for the boys”. Frank finally got his courage up to go to the table and sign us up. He waited patiently in line until it was his turn. When he told the guy that he wanted to participate in the canoe race, he took one look at his size and that was it. “Okay, you’re in boat number 18” The guy said in his scratchy voice. “Thanks” Frank replied. He practically yelled it out. We heard from where we were standing and became excited. We walked over to us trying to be macho. He thought that he was a man now that he could pass for nineteen. It was ten minutes before the race, so we headed for our starting position. At three o’clock, we started to get into the overgrown canoe which was even more difficult than getting into the car. After tipping over about three times like the rest of the contestants, we were finally set. It was hot and humid like always. The people in the other boats were already half drunk, so I felt that we had a real advantage going in. The dock and the hill behind it was jammed with people. There were even more people lined on the street watching the most popular and hilarious event in the regata. Before starting the race, I went over the strategy with the guys. “Remember, the key to us winning is keeping the water out of the boat” I said, and it was true. Speed didn’t matter, it was who could stay afloat the longest and therefore finish. “What if we tip over?” Homer asked. He was always thinking of the worst. “We won’t. Don’t worry about it. All that we have to do is keep the water out of the boat and watch everyone else sink. Those guys will be drunk and probably drowning” Lennie said. The starter raised his gun into the air and let a booming shot go that echoed through the hills surrounding us. We started paddleing franticly outwards, desperately trying to keep water out of the boat. The water was warm and it felt good on my hands. I could hear all of the spectators cheering from the shore. We were only about 50 meters across when the first few boats started sinking. One of them was the group beside us. I could see them half under the water and still trying to do, as if they still had a chance of winning. It wasn’t long after that most of the boats were tipping over. It looked like we were home free, but our boat was starting to get a little water in it. “We’re gonna sink,” Homer yelled out. “Shut up and keep paddling,” Frank yelled back in an angered tone. “But guys…” he tried to explain. Just as he said this, Lorne turned around and slapped him upside the head. “Keep paddling, we’re gonna win this race. I don’t care what it takes. We came all of this way to win, and a little bit of water isn’t going to stop us.” Lorne’s statement must have gotten through our heads because after that, we were like a machine. We paddled at an unthinkable pace, getting practicly no water into our canoe. As we neared the finish line, their were only a couple of boats left, and they were well behind us and sinking rapidly. We reached the shore and jumped out of the boat the way we had done it so many times before with the car. We jumped on eachother in a victory celebration the same way the Jays had done when they won the World series in 1992 (maybe this wasn’t quite as big, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to do at the time). People came by to congratulate us on our victory, and the owner of the beer store gave us our trophy. When everybody headed for the main street where the dance was supposed to be, we sat down and savoured it (our prize that is). “Open that thing up!” I demanded. Lenny ripped open the case and gave us all a beer. “I don’t want one” Homer declared. “Me neither” Ron said. They never had anything they weren’t supposed to. They had their reasons for it, and we learned to accept it. “Great, I get yours” Lenny said. We sat back in the shade, and talked about what we had done. We drank for about an hour, laughing at all of the things that happened to us over the weekend. It was about five o’clock now and Frank noticed that he was hungry. “Do you guys want to get something to eat?” he asked. “Sure” we all said. I still had twenty dollars left and nothing better to spend it on, so food seemed like a logical idea. We went into the snack bar and ordered fries with gravy. We sat outside on one of those picnic tables that every summer place has. We ate there for an hour, just passing time, waiting for the street dance to begin. It was about seven-thirty when the band started playing. I was supposed to meet Lucy at eight o’clock by the stage. I was there on time, but she wasn’t. I waited for about half-an hour and decided that she wasn’t coming. She stiffed me (this always happened to me. Maybe it was something I said, or did I forget to wear my deodorant again?) and there was nothing I could do about it. I spent the next hour walking around looking for the guys, but they were all off with their girls. Even Homer was with a girl. This thought made me sick, so I sat down and listened to the band (they were an oldies band that played hits from the sixties. They weren’t bad, but they weren’ t good either). I was sitting there for awhile, I kind of lost track of the time. Finally, I started to get up to go search for the guys again, when I saw her. She was looking around like she was lost and I walked over to her. “Where were you?” I asked. “Inside my house” she replied. “My dad grounded me because he saw me with you. He doesn’t like guys to much.” It didn’t sound to believable, but I would have accepted anything at that time. We walked towards the stage, and enjoyed the rest of the night. There was a warm breeze blowing, and it seemed like everything was just right. I don’t remember too much about the rest of that night (maybe the beer kicked in, or maybe I just don’t want to tell about it) but I do know that it went all right. I met up with the guys at about two-thirty. The buzz had worn off, and I was feeling kind of tired. We jumped into the car, and left the town. It looked like a ghost town that hadn’t seen anybody in ten years. There was a full moon overhead, and it reflected onto the lake and lit up the dead looking place. We got to the cottage and all went straight to bed. We had had a long, long day. I slept in late the next morning, waking at 11:30.We ate a quick breakfast, packed our stuff and got into the car. We started on our way home. We came down the hill that led into town, and pulled into the snack bar for one final meal. We got fries and gravy again (it was kind of tradition) and gulped it down. As we were eating, I kept my eyes open for Lucy, and even though I knew that I wouldn’t see her, it was something I did anyways. We finished up, went to Fedderly’s gas station and filled the old VW up with juice. Fedderly was a big fat guy who owned the gas station/junk yard. He had owned them forever, and was almost famous for it. We pulled out and drove through the town towards the highway. We stopped at the stop sign. For some strange reason, I took one last look at that town. It looked so pretty nestled in between those hills, with the lake on one side of the road, and the entire town on the other. I stared at it for a couple of seconds, and then drove off towards home. That was the last time I ever saw it. That year, Dave’s grandfather died. His grandmother had no money, so she decided to sell it. I never went back. It wouldn’t have been right for me to go back into the town without going to the cottage for a night or two. I still think about that place, but I can’t bring myself up to going back. We got into Oakville at about four-thirty. It had been a long drive home, and we were all tired. What we talked about was nothing of importance, once again, it was just to pass time. That summer we did alot of “just passing time” together. It was something to do, and hey, we had our whole lives ahead of us so why not enjoy it right. After high school, we all went our separate ways. Dave got a job with his dad’s printing company and was very successful with it, becoming the vice president. He now lives in a big house near where he grew up out in the country. He was the only one that I really stayed close to. He was the best man at my wedding, and went on to marry and have five kids, a large number for his time. Frank and Ron graduated together and went to University together (University of Guelph), and later opened an animal clinic together. They both married (not eachother), and have families. There business isn’t quite booming, but they’re happy. Gordie, like Dave, got a job with his own dad. He is living somewhere out in B.C. (he got transfered) with his wife and kids. His whole life he had been handed things, and his job was no exception. We lost touch when he moved away, but I guess that’s what happen’s when you grow up. Homer became a successful businessman who doesn’t care about anything but his work. I’m still not sure what he does, but he is good at it because he lives in a big house and drives a brand new Cadilac. We talk occasionally, but he for the most part keeps to himself and his job. Lenny did make the NHL. He was drafted in the second round (34th overall) to the Boston Bruins. He still spends his summer’s in the area, but I rarely see or talk to him. He is a great player and I was able to see him play in the all-star game here in Toronto three years ago. Lorne turned out O.K. He works as a teacher of all things. He used to hate them and talk back to them all the time, and now he was one of them. He teaches at a school in Mississauga and is married. We sometimes meet for lunch, but we’re not as close as we used to be. As for me, I graduated from high school and went on to Penn. State University. I majored in English and while I was there, I got a job with the school newspaper covering the Nittany Lions. I now work as a writer for the Toronto Star. I cover the Toronto Maple Leafs, and make a good living off of it. I married a girl that I met in University, and we went on to have three children. It’s funny, how looking back on my life, the one thing that stands out in my mind is that weekend that I spent with my friends when I was sixteen years old. It’s funny how we had to travel two hundred miles to a town in the middle of nowhere to have this one experience. It’s funny how fate changes your whole life in the blink of an eye. But then again, I guess life’s kind of funny too. THE END