Probable Impossibilities by Steven & Margaret Larson
Chapter 2
The next morning I fumbled through the closet looking for my jacket. Must have left it in the living room.
Picking up my backpack I brushed off the mud and stopped in mid swipe. I had forgotten to put the clothes in the dryer.
I bounded to the basement and set the dryer running. Twenty minutes till departure. Enough for a quick breakfast.
As I slid into the kitchen, Dad looked up from his laptop. “Oh good. You can listen to the discovery of a lifetime while you eat.”
“Huh?” I poured Cheerios, scooping the overflow back into the bowl.
“Jacques,” Dad said, “is about to make the discovery that is the whole premise of the story.”
“Mummf,” I mumbled through my Cheerios.”
Taking that as affirmative, he began to read.
Jacques lay sweltering on a remote cliff shelf 4,000 feet above the plain. The image of Jillian's face danced before him. A streak of gray highlighted her once dark hair. Wrinkles spread out from eyes sparkling with mischief. He could almost hear her voice.
“An interesting way to get to the top, Jacques. But you’ll need to get back to town if you expect anyone to hear about your success.”
A smile crossed his chapped lips, but faded quickly as tiny cuts opened from dryness. Heat waves rose from the cliff wall and the image of his colleague, Edmund, loomed before him.
The annoyingly handsome face leaned forward and taunted. “I never dirty my hands with field work. I leave that for the underclassmen who haven’t the skill to write quality documentation.”
Jacques' stomach tightened with distaste. He rolled over and inched into the shadows. His outstretched hand fell into something cool and wet. He turned his head and winced as his face scraped on the rock. Trying to focus, he stared at his hand. Water? Here on top of the mesa?
He laughed at the mirage, the rasping sound scraping his throat. He dipped his hand into the shallow pool and raised it to his face. Moisture dripped onto his parched lips.
Not caring now if the water was an illusion, he threw it on his face and ran his fingers over his head. Refreshing coolness trickled down his neck and a light breeze ruffled his wet hair. His breathing became easier. Scooping up handfuls, he gulped the water with abandoned greed.
His body felt light. He was a child floating down the river on an inner tube, the cold water numbing his legs and the hot sun warming his shoulders. Peaceful, he drifted. After long moments the air became cooler. With a shiver he opened his eyes. The last rays of the once searing sun cast a lingering light into his alcove.
He struggled to his feet and steadied himself against the cliff wall. His fingers brushed over faint indentations. Curious, he studied the pattern of engravings carved in the cliff wall. Though badly weathered, he could still make out the ancient script. Loosely translated it read, The last of the springs of youth that make fertile the plains below.
Jacques shivered and ran his hand through the hollow where the pool had been. Not a drop of water. Just dry dust.
He began the descent to the plain.
I took my last bite of Cheerios waiting to hear the rest of the story, knowing I would need to comment on the important discovery. The room was silent. I looked up. Dad stared at me, waiting for my reaction. I swallowed hard. Somehow I had missed it.
“Uh, nice poetry on the wall. Sort of cryptic.” Dad looked surprised. “Guess you’re going to explain it later?” I headed for the door.
Dad frowned and looked down at his laptop screen. “I thought the fountain of youth was obvious.”
Great. Dad was on his youth kick again and it had slipped by me. There was no time to cover my mistake now, but I gave it a quick try.
“I like it,” I offered. “Can’t wait for the next chapter.” That was a stupid comment, I thought. I escaped to the basement.
The dryer cycle was not finished, but the jacket felt hot. I hurried out into the crisp morning. The jacket's heat faded quickly. Patches had not thoroughly dried, and they rapidly turned cold in a nasty damp sort of way.
It was a relief to get it off when I got to school. I dropped my backpack to the floor, opened the locker, and stuffed the jacket inside. The torn sleeve faced me. Washing had widened the rip, and stuffing now poked through the frayed edges of the gash.
My backpack slumped against my leg. Looking down I saw a designer shoe just inches away. I raised my eyes in resignation. As I expected, the shoe belonged to Doug.
“Wow, Josh, check out this jacket.” He fingered the material and poked at the stuffing. “You were right to be concerned about Cody getting lost in the woods. Looks like he had a run in with something.”
“Must have been something with big claws to leave a rip like that,” Josh said. “How do you suppose he managed to escape?”
I slammed the locker. To my amusement, Doug jumped and jerked his fingers out of the way. He flushed with anger.
“Did something get out of the burial ground?” Josh taunted.
“Guess you'll have to find out for yourself,” I said. “If you have the nerve.”
Doug leaned toward me, his eyes dark with contempt. In his best mocking voice he said, “Aren't we a little old for tales of a haunted forest? It doesn't take much nerve for a stroll through the woods.”
“Is that so?” A girl with long red hair and a fearless look appeared by my side.
Doug smiled as he honed in on a new victim. “Well, well. If it isn't the Gen, Gen the elven queen,” he said.
I started to smile, remembering when we were all five and Gen had worn fairy wings all summer. One glance at her scowling face and the charming memory faded. I ducked my head and made sure there was no trace of a smile when I looked up again.
With a smirk, Josh bowed to Gen and said, “Never fear, Lady Guenivere. We cut through those woods all the time. Neither fairies, nor trolls, nor even ghosts are a terror for us.”
Disgust filled me leaving a nasty taste in my mouth. “Well why would two squirrels be...” I began when another voice broke in.
“You're not brave. You're just sneaks.”
Gen looked up at a tall skinny kid with a weathered cap. His straight black hair poked out around the strap in the back.
“Elroy,” Gen said with a sigh, “let it go.”
His voice took on a grating whine. “They don't go through the woods. I know...”
“You don't know anything,” Josh said narrowing his eyes. His eyebrows almost met over his nose. It was a sinister look he had been trying to perfect ever since we were in kindergarten. “Stay out of this, Elroy, or you'll find yourself in the woods...alone.”
Elroy pushed up his glasses. The lens magnified his eyes making him look startled. “Ha! I'm not afraid of the woods.” He jabbed his finger at Josh. “You just pretend to go in. I know where you really go.”
Josh's eyebrows moved from antagonistic to anxious and I wondered if Elroy was on to something. A hand fell on my shoulder. Too late, I realized it wasn't Elroy that had changed Josh's expression.
“It isn't like you to be late for class, Cody,” Mr. Bertram said.
My heart sank. Not the science teacher. Why did it have to be Bertram? I had worked too hard to make an impression with him. Now these Neanderthals were wrecking any hope of a scientific career.
Gen turned on her heel and marched into literature class. Josh and Doug skirted around Bertram like puppies scampering past a Great Dane.
“It's just lit class,” I mumbled.
Mr. Bertram looked down over his large mustache. His voice was quiet. “A necessary discipline even for research professionals. A scientist needs to be educated in myth in order to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction.”
He handed me my backpack and walked away. Ms. Kendrick waited in the doorway. Compared to Bertram she was tiny, like a bird next to a rhinoceros. I hurried past her and slipped into my seat.
“Psst.”
Gen leaned across the aisle. Her hair slid
Ms. Kendrick started class the same way she always did. She perched on the edge of her desk, smiled sweetly at the class, and recited her opening line. Several of the kids mouthed the words with her. “Let’s consider the possibilities.”
From there she began her lecture on the ancient tale of Beowulf and his battle with the monster. Then she posed the question. “How much of the mythical might have been real?”
Unfortunately that was our cue to join the discussion. I hadn't even seen the movie. The only good thing was that Josh and Doug knew less about Beowulf than I did.
The day dragged by, but finally the last bell rang. I took my time at the locker. No sense in rushing. Gen was always late for everything. When I finally strolled outside, the buses were already pulling away.
At least I lived close enough to the school that I didn't have to ride the bus. Leaning on the bleachers in what I hoped was a cool stance, I waited for Gen.
It wasn't long before several girls bounced down the steps all giggling and talking at once. It was one mass of incomprehensible girl noise.
Gen separated from the group. Walking backwards toward the bleachers she waved and called to the other girls until she was right in front of me. Then she spun around and almost fell into my arms.
“Whoa!” She teetered and caught her balance.
Another opportunity lost. “Ready?” I asked.
“Ready to hear about your adventure in the woods.”
As we walked, I began my story. “Josh threw my backpack into the trees. I had to circle through the woods to retrieve it.”
“Did you see any ghosts?” she asked.
“Actually...” I hesitated, wondering how much I should say. “I saw something.”
“Really?” She danced a few steps in front of me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“It's all sort of unreal now. I'm not sure what I saw.”
She stopped and clamped her lips together. With arms folded she said, “Cody Monroe don't you start acting like Doug and Josh. Did you see something or not?”
“Come on Gen.” I pulled on her arm and looked around embarrassed. “Let's not draw attention to ourselves.”
She relented, but walked in moody silence. After a long minute she said, “Well?”
I kept my voice quiet. The story sounded phony, but she didn't laugh. As I talked, the whole thing became real again. My voice got louder, but the look of delightful fear and admiration in her eyes spurred me on.
“This ape like thing came zooming through the trees straight at me. It was covered with hair and it gripped an animal skull over its head. I thought it might throw the thing at me. When it landed on the ground it opened its ugly mouth and out came this shrieking howl.” I barred my teeth and let out a curdling cry.
She gasped, jolting me back to the present. She breathed out the word solemnly, “Bigfoot.”
I took a deep breath. “Let's not jump to conclusions. I didn't say it was Bigfoot.”
She nodded and her expression almost mimicked Bertram when he was explaining a scientific theory. “Did you take any pictures?”
I was stunned. “Pictures?”
“Yes, we need proof.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t think it was a good time for a photo op. The only thing on my mind was running.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “That's understandable. It caught you by surprise. But next time we'll be expecting it, and we'll be ready.”
My voice cracked. “Next time?” I didn't like where this was leading.
From a side pocket on her backpack she pulled out a small tablet and a tiny pen. “We have to document it.” She began making a list. “Camera, flashlight, batteries. Do you think we'll need food to attract it? Was it muddy? How about boots?”
I voiced my objection. “That may not be a good idea...”
“Right. Boots would make it hard to run if we need to. Old tennis shoes will be better.”
I tried to picture her in work boots and failed.
“Oh!” She stopped, then ran a few steps to catch up. “You didn't tell me how your jacket got torn.” Her voice trembled and she whispered, “Did it catch you?”
“No, it didn't catch me,” I said with irritation. “I probably wouldn't be here if it had.”
“Then how did you tear your jacket?”
“If you must know, I fell and caught it on a tree limb.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she shrugged and started writing again. “Okay, we know we can outrun it. That's important. And we know which side of the stream it lives on.”
“We do? How do we know that?”
“Oh, it's highly probable that it’s territorial. I don't think it will cross the water.”
I was incredulous. There was nothing to stop it from crossing the stream. Were all girls so illogical? She went on asking questions about supplies. I wasn't giving answers, but her list kept growing.
Gen and I had been next door neighbors all our lives and friends every since Gen climbed over the fence to visit when she was three. The two things that had remained consistent through the years were her love of fantasy and her lists. She had been making lists ever since we had learned how to print.
We reached Gen's house first. She stopped outside the gate to her yard. “We'll go tonight right after dinner.”
“Go where?” I asked.
She spoke slowly. “To-the-woods. To see Bigfoot.” She tore off the bottom half of the page and handed it to me.
“What's this?” I asked looking down at the paper.
“Everything we've been talking about.” She ran her finger down the page. “Flashlight, old tennis shoes, old clothes, cell phone. It's all right there. I'll bring all the equipment.” Her hand trembled slightly and her face was flushed with excitement.
All I could picture was that beast carrying her off through the woods like King Kong while I struggled through the thorny underbrush trying to keep up.
I stuffed the list into my pocket and grasped her arms. Trying to make my voice calm and mature, I said, “We are not going into the woods to hunt Bigfoot.”
The light in her eyes faded and a tear threatened to slide out. She didn't answer.
“It's a wild animal. You could get hurt.” I had always thought of Gen as bold and tough, but now she looked frail. I was afraid for her. She wasn't convinced. “I probably imagined the whole thing,” I said knowing I was letting her down.
She sniffed and her smile was weak. “Okay, let's drop it. I'll see you tomorrow.” She turned and ran up the walk. Throwing me a distracted wave she disappeared inside.
I stood there staring at the closed door. She was going to need time to forgive me. I turned away and headed home, my mind trying to work out a plan.
If the creature was nocturnal, we could go during the day on Saturday and possibly never see him. In any case, a daylight encounter would be better than one at night. I’d call her after dinner. My stomach growled as I reached home.