Tendrils

Previously published in “Voices” a publication of the English Language Arts Council of the Alberta Teachers’ Association

A story of youthful betrayal

Tendrils

The sand dunes soared hundreds of feet above the canal.  For every step up I had the impression of slipping back two as the hot white sand slid through the cracks between my toes.  The quest  for the summit was always worth it.  I felt free and powerful perched above everything as I searched the lake for incoming freighters.

The “dunes,” as we called them, were large sand piles; the result of years of dredging the channel entrance to the Welland ship canal at lock number 1.  They served as our look out, allowing my older brother, Walter, and I the opportunity to examine the parade of approaching ships.  If one looked particularly inviting for whatever reason we would descend our position with dancing leaps like madmen racing for the canal.  Walter was more daring and swifter and always reached the ships before I could.

We screamed up in our tiny voices at the sailors casually leaning against the rusty metal rails on decks that towered over our heads and imaginations, “Coins...throw us your coins.”

Our over exuberant begging usually worked. Sailors from ports we could only vaguely imagine threw down on us a few coins causing us to scramble after them like marbles tossed in a school yard at recess with Walter always getting more than his share.  Some of the coins were thrown deliberately perhaps into the water causing the more foolish of my friends to dive for them in the wake of the huge throbbing propeller.  The fact that we all reached adulthood is still a miracle I marvel at as the powerful water and currents threw our bodies in wild directions, seldom retrieving the coin.

We rode our bikes up the steep incline leading to the top of the lock.  From this vantage point we were above the approaching ship as it entered the lock.  We were now able to look down on the same sailors who minutes before had parted with their coins. I could never get enough of viewing the movement of the lumbering gates pushing tons of water aside as they slowly swung wide, as if in welcome embrace, of the approaching vessel.

“Are you going to stare at the lock all day?”  My brother intruded into my thoughts.

Walter had descended the cracked cement steps and sat under the shade of a large willow.  With my long legs I took the steps two at a time to join him.

“Try one.”  He urged, while tantalizingly fondling the cigarette.

Before I had a chance to respond he took another long drag and held the smoke deep within his lungs for a long time before forcefully exhaling in one mighty breathe.  He didn’t cough.  He had graduated quickly from the hollow sticks we had smoked in the vineyards behind the school.

Walter taunted me again.  Do you want to try it?”

I hesitated for only a moment and, impressed by his manly display, took the smoldering cigarette into my small hands and inhaled quickly.  I lacked expertise and confidence.  I broke into a series of quick coughs and with a shaking hand passed the filter tip back to Walter.

“Now you can’t tell mom,” he crowed.

I coughed again not so much from the smoke this time more in disbelief.  I was stunned by the realization that Walter had set me up.  He had set a trap and I had dumbly and eagerly fallen into it.  He was right.  I couldn’t tell mom.

I could not be a traitor and if I did I was also compromised in my mother’s eyes.  Walter’s lack of trust in me temporarily threw me.

I reached for the cigarette with false bravado and slowly, awkwardly sucked on it.  I exhaled with all the calmness I could muster, trying desperately not to cough again.

“You’re right, I gasped.  “I can’t tell mom.”

I paused for maximum dramatic effect, focusing on the rising tendrils of grey smoke.

“And neither can you.”