Hiding Out
Over the next month, the plan worked flawlessly. In the mornings, Jack snuck Bowie out the back door. Jack went to school during the day while Bowie hung out at a local park, the mall or around town. When an adult questioned why he wasn’t in school, he said he was visiting from Scotland and his relatives were at work. His accent sold them on the story.
Jack came home from school and waited for his mom to leave. After she left, he met Bowie in the backyard, which faced an open field so it never aroused suspicion from the neighbors. Together, they fixed up a make-shift bedroom in the attic, complete with an air mattress, sheets, comforter and lamp.
Jack had quite the collection of DVDs. He first played his favorite movie Raiders of the Lost Ark. Bowie had never seen the film before but it became his instant favorite as well. There was one scene in particular they replayed at least a dozen times: the hero Indiana Jones frantically searches for his love interest Marion who was kidnapped by hired thugs via the Nazis in Cairo, circa 1936. Cairo was a frenetic city with many of the inhabitants dressed in turbans and kaftans so it was hard to distinguish the actual kidnappers who also wore turbans and caftans. And the basket in which they were holding Marion looked like every other basket holding goods and supplies.
In the famous scene, Indiana Jones turns a corner looking for her. The crowd clears and there standing in his path is a fierce and foreboding swordsman-assassin dressed in black waiting to dispose of him. As the assassin stares down Indiana Jones, he tries to intimidate him with fancy swordplay, shifting his oversized scimitar from hand to hand and swinging it with martial precision. Indiana Jones is fatigued and annoyed. He needs to find Marion but this brute stands in his path. He’s no match for the swordsman. But his revolver is. He pulls out his gun and shoots the swordsman dead. Done deal. Obstacle gone.
The first time Bowie watched that scene, he laughed out loud for a full minute. “Freakin’ brilliant!”
“I know, right?” said Jack.
“Hey, I want to show you something!” Bowie went into the attic, rummaged through his backpack and returned with something wrapped in an old t-shirt and stuffed in a Ziploc bag. He opened it up and inside was a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum along with one bullet.
“Whoa! Where did you get it?” asked Jack.
“It belonged to my Dad. I think he won it in a poker game. He used to keep it in his nightstand. When his drinking got really bad, I hid it in the garage, just in case. I took it with me when I ran away,” said Bowie.
Jack was both enthralled and fearful of the weapon. He had never seen a gun up close. “Did you ever fire it?”
Bowie picked it up and aimed it at an invisible villain. “One time, I was sitting under a freeway overpass in Iowa and these four guys started yelling at me and threatened to beat me up if I didn’t turn over the can of tuna fish I was eating. I pulled it out and shot it in their general direction a few times. They took off.”
“That must have been scary!” projected Jack.
“Sure it was,” confirmed Bowie. “And then when I was going through Utah, I got so hungry, I tried to shoot a squirrel.”
“Tried?” questioned Jack.
“I wasn’t that good a shot,” admitted Bowie. “ Even if I had shot it, I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.” Bowie held up the solitary bullet. “I only have one left.” He looked at it pensively. At one point, Bowie had thought about using the bullet on himself. He had experienced deep despair after running away. He figured what would be the difference if one less person was on this planet? But Bowie was a fighter with an indelible spirit. In his heart, he believed he was put on this earth for a purpose and he was going to find out what it was. A few months ago, he had nothing. Now, he had a friend, a best friend. Jack made sure he had food, clean clothes, and more than any material thing, Jack helped him realize he had worth and value, else why would someone go to so much effort on his behalf?
Jack picked up on the vibe and tried lightening the mood. “Save that one for an evil swordsman!”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Bowie smirked. “Have you seen any lately?”
Jack played along. “There was one at the Starbucks this afternoon, but he’s probably gone now.”
At first, Jack didn’t know what to do about Bowie when his mom had time off from work. She usually hung out around the house, drank and would occasionally run errands, but nothing with any consistency. It was too risky for Bowie to stay in the attic when she was home for the day. Then Jack remembered in the open field behind their house stood an old oak tree and among its branches was an abandoned tree house built by some neighborhood kids over a decade earlier. Jack had never been in it because of his fear of heights so Bowie climbed up to inspect it. The structure was open on one side but enclosed on the other three sides. Save for one loose floor board, which Bowie nearly fell through, the tree house was in pretty good shape.
It only took Bowie a few hours to kill off the spiders and clean out the inside to make it generally livable. The sleeping bag, tarp, flashlight and bucket Jack found in the garage went a long way to making it downright homey.
The tree’s canopy was very dense so Bowie was well concealed. The boys developed a rope-and-pulley system for supplies and refuge, though Jack refused to handle Bowie’s “personal hygiene” bucket, which both of them were fine with to keep their friendship on speaking terms.
On Cinco De Mayo, Jack and Bowie celebrated by making Bowie’s new favorite dish, nachos. There was a knock on the front door and both boys froze for a moment. “It’s not my mom,” surmised Jack. “She wouldn’t need to knock. Probably someone selling something.”
“You want me to get the gun?” asked Bowie.
“That’s okay, but if the person has a scimitar, I’ll yell for you.” Jack went to the door and opened it. There stood his grandmother holding a green-hued wooden box. They stared at each other without speaking. Bowie came up behind Jack. “Well, if it isn’t Gram Devova! Don’t be rude, Jack. Invite her in!”
Jack hesitated for a moment remembering his mom didn’t want her in the house. But it was his grandmother after all and he was a bit curious. “Yes, please come in.” Devova walked in and sat in the living room holding the box.
“Do you want some nachos?” offered Bowie.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Something to drink then?’ persisted Bowie. “I can get you a glass of water and I think we have a Fresca left, which I have to say tastes horrible, but well, maybe you Americans like it.”
She smiled faintly. “Just some water, thanks.”
“Coming right up!” Bowie went to get her the water. Jack took a seat opposite his grandmother.
“Why are you here?” asked Jack directly.
“It’s your birthday in two days,” she said.
“You showed up after all this time to celebrate my birthday?” Jack didn’t know where this was going but he thought the unusual box she was holding had something to do with it. “Why now? Why are you here now?” asked Jack with some edge. He was angry she never visited him earlier in his life. Since his mother had fallen into deep depression and alcoholism, no one had ever tried to ease his burden, until Bowie came along.
Devova looked hurt but maintained her composure. “There’s too much to explain right now.”
Bowie came in with the water for Devova and a plate of nachos. “Last chance on the nachos,” he said and extended them to her. She gently waved her hand in refusal. “Jack, how about you?”
“Not right now,” said Jack, keeping his eyes on his grandmother.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a while.” Bowie went into the kitchen to give them space.
Devova handed the box to Jack. “This is for you.”
The wood was dense and the box had some weight to it. “What is it?” he asked.
“What’s inside is extremely important,” answered Devova somberly.
Jack opened the box. Inside laid a pristine nautilus shell. He picked it up gently and looked at it from all angles. He was confused. “A nautilus shell? What’s so important about this shell?”
“Maybe it’s a metaphor!” an eavesdropping Bowie yelled from the kitchen.
“I got this one, Bowie, thank you,” answered Jack. He turned back toward his grandmother. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
She let out a sigh and closed her eyes to collect herself for a moment before speaking. “On your birthday, at the exact moment you were born, 12:03 am, you need to hold the shell up to your ear.” Jack waited for the punchline but none came.
A skeptical look swept across Jack’s face. “What’s going to happen?”
“In truth, I don’t know,” answered Devova. She changed the subject. “Has your mother told you anything about me, how close we once were or why we don’t talk anymore?”
Jack thought for a moment. “No, not really. She only said you were crazy.” He could tell his words cut Devova deeply but he thought better to answer truthfully.
“‘Certified whack job’ were the exact words you said she used!” yelled Bowie from the kitchen.
“Thanks for the clarification!” Jack yelled back.
“I’m afraid if I told you everything, you would think I was crazy, too,” admitted Devova.
“Well, you show up for the first time in my life just as I’m turning fourteen years-old and give me a shell so on my exact birthday I can hold it up to my ear and then you don’t know what will happen but it’s very important,” he summed up concisely.
“He’s got a point!” yelled Bowie from the kitchen.
“Thanks for the assist, but I’m doing fine by myself!” replied Jack.
“No worries!” answered Bowie.
Devova couldn’t contest the facts. “I realize it’s a lot to ask, Jack, but I’m asking you to trust me. Will you do it?”
Jack held the shell up to his ear. “I don’t hear anything special now, just the sound of the ocean, which is really not the case.” Jack entered professor mode. “Scientists used to believe it was the echo of our blood pumping but was later discovered to be the echo of the air around us, also known as ambient noise.”
“Just say you’ll do it!” yelled Bowie.
Jack didn’t answer him this time. Why should he listen to a mad woman, even if it was his grandmother? She came out of nowhere and asked him to do something that if anyone found out, he’d be the laughing stock of Sunvale.
“I guess it won’t hurt to do it,” conceded Jack.
“Oh, thank you, Jack!” She jumped out of her seat and hugged him, but was careful not to crush the shell. Devova’s embrace was warm and loving. He hadn’t felt anything like that in years.
She pulled away from him and held his gaze. “Remember, it has to be exactly at 12:03am or else!”
“Or else whatever is supposed to happen won’t happen,” iterated Jack.
“I’ll go now. We’ll talk soon.” Devova cupped his cheek in her hand then turned toward the door and left.
Bowie came out from the kitchen and looked at the shell. “That’s cool! Hey, what do you think will happen?”
“I don’t think anything will happen. You really think something is going to happen?” asked Jack.
“Heck no, but as we say in Scotland, “Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!”
“Say what?”
Bowie translated, “It means what’s meant to happen will happen.”
Jack didn’t want to think about it any further for the time being. “Where are those nachos?”
“I’ve got another round in the oven as we speak,” said Bowie.
Jack mustered up his best Scottish accent, “That’s freakin’ greeeat!”
“Were you imitating me?” asked Bowie.
Jack smiled. “No, William Wallace.”
“If that’s what he sounded like, I understand why he was drawn and quartered!” Bowie walked back into the kitchen.
Jack laughed until he realized Bowie just insulted him. “Hey!”
That night, Jack dreamt he held the nautilus shell up to his ear and was suddenly sucked into darkness. He woke up with a start and turned on his nightstand light. He checked under his bed and pulled out the wooden box. He opened it up and there sat the nautilus shell. He thought his grandmother may truly be insane. But he told her he’d hold it up to his ear at exactly 12:03am on his birthday and he would be true to his word. If his mother found out about the shell, she would smash it to bits, which wouldn’t be a big deal considering probably nothing was going to happen anyway. Jack put the shell back in the box and placed it under his bed. “Probably?” he thought to himself. “Of course nothing will happen!” He shrugged it off and went back to sleep.
Five miles away in a hotel room, Devova sat by the window looking up at the starry sky. As she took in the beauty of the universe, she softly chimed the same verses over and over:
Ging-de-lot-dot-de-dig
Fung-hey-dey-lot-de-dot-dora
Shung-gonna-fot-te-zing
Fong-bay-te-le-dot-de-vova
Grare-te-lot-don-fu-te
Ang-wan-bay-la-taun-vay-fuega
Lom-gonna-zot-she-tang
Gome-ply-werti-som-sot-sora