As Grim pulled up in front of his house he saw Brad Andrus standing beside the sycamore tree that dominated the front lawn of the Magnusson’s house. At Brad’s side stood another boy, about Brad’s age. This could mean only one thing. Something was stuck in the tree.
This was a little game that they played. Brad would lob some object into the high branches of the sycamore and it was Grim’s job to retrieve it. Grim was like a trained, tree-climbing monkey that Brad liked to show off whenever he had visitors.
“Hello, Brad,” Grim said as he got out of the car. “Who’s your friend?”
“Tod. He’s my cousin.” Brad replied.
“Nice to meet you, Tod,” Grim said, shaking Tod’s small hand. “So, what is it this time?”
“A Nerf football,” Brad replied.
“Is it the green one?”
“Yep.”
“Where is it?”
“On the left side, about halfway up.”
Grim looked at Tod. “So, how many times did Brad have to throw it up there before it stuck?”
Tod blinked and looked nervously at Brad. “Ummm…about 20.”
“OK,” Grim said to Brad. “Time me.”
Brad lifted the stopwatch he was holding in his right hand and hit the button. Brad’s father was the Jr. High School gym teacher and Brad had recently become enamored with his Dad’s stopwatch. He carried it everywhere, timing everyone doing anything. His Dad had become so tired of searching for his stopwatch every time that he left for work that he’d purchased himself a new one and relinquished the old one to Brad.
As Brad ticked the button, Grim took two quick steps, put his foot on the large knot about three feet off the ground, and launched himself into tree. He grabbed the lowest branch, which was about nine feet off the ground, and used the upward momentum to swing up and grab the second branch. Then he put both feet on the first branch and leapt up to grab the third.
The Magnusson’s sycamore was the ideal climbing tree, with a thick central trunk and large branches radiating out from the center. The branches were almost perfectly spaced — not too dense, not too sparse — so once you cleared the second branch you could climb the interior branches as if you were climbing a ladder. There was a gap about halfway up the east side that required a jump across to the south, but from there it was a straight shot to the top.
As Grim neared the halfway point he looked around and spotted the Nerf football resting on one of the smaller branches about 12 feet out from the trunk. This was going to be easy. He grabbed a large branch about five feet above the smaller branch and swung his legs up. Then, hanging upside-down like a three-toed sloth, he made his way, moving hand over hand, leg over leg, to the football.
The farther he climbed out on the large branch the more it bent under his weight, so by the time he was directly above the football he only had to reach down about a foot and a half to grab it. Brad and his cousin were almost directly below, so Grim took aim like a bombardier and let the football go. It was a perfect shot, bouncing off Brad’s head and landing at Tod’s feet.
“Hey!” Brad yelled, rubbing the top of his head.
“Oops, sorry about that,” he called down. “What was my time?”
Brad glanced at the stopwatch. “17 seconds,” he shouted.
“I must be getting old.” Grim muttered as he made his way back down the tree. He dropped the final nine feet to the ground. “Now, Brad, try not to get anything stuck up there while I’m gone. I don’t want to come home and find 80 things stuck in the tree.”
“I won’t,” Brad promised and ran off with his cousin, Nerf football in one hand, stopwatch in the other.
Grim went into the house, stripped, showered, ran his fingers through his hair (the extent of his grooming routine), and threw on a fresh pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt. That was Grim’s summer uniform. Other than when he went to church, he would wear nothing but shorts and T-shirts until school started in the Fall.
After he was dressed, he ran out to the car, unhitched the trailer, and drove the few blocks into town. As he pulled into the parking lot of Ruffles Drive-In he saw Scott’s and Brent’s cars already parked outside. He walked in and headed toward the booth where they always sat.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had to get something out of the tree.”
“What was it this time?” Brent asked.
“A Nerf football,” Grim replied.
“Where was it?” Brent asked.
“About halfway up,” said Grim.
“What was your time?” Scott asked.
“17 seconds,” Grim said with a smile.
“You’re getting old,” Brent said. “You used to be able to do halfway in twelve.”
“Give me break, it was a long day,” Grim said as he headed to the counter, ordered a Fresh Lime (Ruffles made the best Fresh Limes in the state of Idaho), and took it back with him to the booth.
“So, what time do you leave in the morning?” Brent asked as Grim plopped into the booth.
“Five. I fly to Salt Lake where I have a two hour layover, then to New York where I have a three hour layover, and then to London.”
“This is your first time flying, isn’t it?” Scott asked.
“Yep,” Grim replied.
“You’re going to love it.”
“I hope so, because I’m going to be doing it for 18 hours.”
“Hey, I forgot the name of that castle where you’re working.” Brent said.
“Wickham Castle,” Grim replied.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s not a very big one.”
“Are you going to have to handle the grounds all by yourself?” Brent asked.
“No, I’m like an intern. I’ll probably just end up doing all the grunt work.”
“So, will a grunt like you get to meet the Royal Family?” Scott asked.
“No. I understand they don’t really use the castle anymore. It’s out in the middle of nowhere and it’s pretty old, so it’s not big on luxuries. I guess the Royal Family is big on luxuries. There are tour groups that come through occasionally, but other that that there’ll be nobody but us lowly serfs.”
“What about Victoria?” Scott asked, pronouncing the name with his best proper British accent.
“Nope. No one from the Royal Family is going to be there.” Grim replied.
“Too bad,” Scott said.
“Why?” asked Grim.
“Because I think she’s hot,” Scott said.
“‘Hot?’ Did you really just use the term ‘hot?’” Grim asked, laughing.
“Yeah.” Scott said, staring off into space for a moment. “She’s beautiful. Sure, she’s mess, but she’s beautiful. And with those lips, I’ll bet she’s a great kisser.”
“Well, I’ll let you know,” Grim said with a smile.
“Yeah, right!” Brent said sarcastically. “You said she wasn’t even going to be there. Besides, you wouldn’t even know what a great kisser was!”
“Hey, I’ve had some experience,” Grim insisted.
“One kiss! One kiss does not count as ‘some experience,’” Brent countered.
“‘I forgot something,’” Scott said mockingly.
“Cut it out,” Grim objected. “That’s one more than both of you losers combined!”
“I’m saving myself,” Brent said demurely.
“For what, your fortieth birthday?” Scott asked. “I’m not saving myself, I’m just a nerd.”
“Well, maybe we’ll all get lucky this summer,” Grim offered, but he knew there was little chance of that. His subtle charms were lost on the young women of St. Albans, so he held out little hope that they would be appreciated on any other continent. But hope springs eternal, even if kissing doesn’t…or something like that.
Posted: Wednesday, March 17, 2004 at 1:07 PM
