The Sandbox Theory

  “Jesus told them she put in more because she gave all she had. They just put in their extra. If you give all you have, or what you really need, not just what’s left over, it has much more value in Jesus’ eyes. So you see, she actually put in more.”

  Sid nodded. He thought how this could influence investment in the spiritual. A rule of thumb, perhaps, if you invest what’s really important, it gains more value than investing your excess. Franco’s advisor would surely laugh.

  While he bounced the ball back to Andy on the court, the parable bounced around in Sid’s head. What did he have that he depended on, yet was willing to give up? Putting up everything he had, now that was scary, a high risk investment. But high risk, like Andy had just taken on stage, higher return ... what would that be?

  ###

  “Thanks Andrew,” says Frank, when he gets back up on the stage. “That took a lot of courage. So maybe we’ll get some of our show going now.”

  The Romaniuks assemble to sing Happy Over There. Their costumes place them as deep woods hillbillies from over there, somewhere. The relatives start to lighten up, and end up almost falling out of their chairs, rolling with laughter.

  Andrew walks back in through the yellow door and Franco brings him a beer.

  In the next act, the Lalondes perform, Uncle Pete with his squeeze box organ, and a couple French songs. Then, some youthful stand-ups vainly attempt to recoup the hillbilly laughter. As the stage performances come to a close, cards appear out of nowhere.

  The gentle staccato of children’s voices is waning, irrupting more and more in cranky disputes as little ones seek out parents as allies. Time for bed soon. Rumour of serious partying floats on the near horizon for the cousins. Uncles and aunts being wiser, knowing their limits, play one more Kaiser game before driving off for a good night’s sleep. Jo tells Sid there’s talk of a campfire. Roasting marshmallows or beer drinking.

  Whereas once beer drinking filled Sid with excited anticipation, now it brings on lame memory of another dry mouth dawn. But for others, he has learned to detach, letting them do what they must.

  The cousins walk in groups over to Ronny’s Rental Cabins where Ralf and his family reside for the weekend. The northern lights come dancing along with a magnificent flare of colour, lighting their way as they walk. Bands of shimmering white break into a blue mirage, lined with oscillating pillars of purple and orange. Their flicker weaves bands of brilliance across the star-covered black sky, ceiling over the sandy road they walk on. As the lights tap a cyclic rhythm, a soundless song of the spirit of the night, wrapping themselves around the bright yellow half-moon, Sid feels enraptured for a moment by the silence of another sermon.

  The fire pit squashes in beside blue painted swings and slides with chipped green picnic tables. They break out more beer ... gathering to laugh together. The sounds of a couple boats roar in off the late evening lake. The rumbling whine of one boat repeats a rhythm; takeoff roars then quieter moments.

  “That’s Franco, isn’t it?” Sid asks Ryan.

  “Where? I don’t see no Franco.” Ryan’s speech comes out slurred.

  “No, the boat. Listen. Doesn’t that sound like his boat out on the lake?”

  “What? Oh, yah.” Ryan agrees after cocking one ear. “Yah, that’s him. Sounds like he’s pissin’ around,” Ryan grins through glassy eyes.

  “I hope he cheers Andy up a bit. He was a little bummed out up on the stage,” says Sid. He wonders what spectacle the northern lights would be out there with no village streetlights. But he has a feeling his cousins in the boat might not be noticing.

  “Franco knows how to party. He’ll get Andy going, don’t you worry. You want a beer?” Ryan grins broadly.

  Sid ignores the offer. Ralf’s voice resonates, though he’s keeping it low for the audience of sorts around him. His wife, having checked on their children, steps out of the cabin to rejoin the campfire commotion.

  “Sounds like the boat’s coming this way,” says Sid, mostly to himself.

  “Have a beer, Sid,” Ralf notices him. “Here, take one of mine.”

  Sid just walks away, onto the sandy street running by Ronny’s Rentals, stepping out from the shine of the streetlights. He looks down past the local bar on the left and the boat dock on the right, then he tilts his head up towards the dancing lights. A phenomenon Grandpa Pawlo must have seen so many times. Could the Carpathian Mountains be far enough north to have one of these performances in the night time sky.

  He freezes to what sounds like a dog’s howl, only the howl slips into a bit of human tone. Two figures come walking up the road; Sid first thinks a couple of drinkers leaving the bar, only something is different. They don’t staggering, like after a few hours serious drinking, but seem rather sparked, with an energy that comes from substances that extend the night.

  “Hey Franco. Hey Andy. Is that you?”

  The dog howl comes back in reply, mixed in now with farm animal noises, backed with a wild moon-touched laughter that seems to fill every noise hole between the grunts. They now lean on each other as they walk, then nimbly skip apart.

  Sid recognizes Franco’s features in the closest street light, as he walks directly over, breaking into a military goosestep, grinning from ear to ear, eyeballs opened wide as the sky. He grabs Sid by the head, squashed his nose into Sid’s, prying his wild eyes open impossibly further, pupils dilated and he then falls away into a burst of all-consuming giggles. Sid has never seen Franco like this, not ever before.

  Andrew marches directly to the campfire, stepping not over, but through it, then he falls into his own burst of hilarity. He reels on the ground, overcome with a world of fabricated amusement. If cheering up was Sid’s wish, Andrew certainly frames the diametric opposite of the cousin who walked off the stage. He is now a completely different person, completely free of worries … for the moment.

  Even Ralf quiets, distracted into watching his cousins’ antics. He scratches the back of his head, and then concludes.

  “You guys are suckin’ dope. Come on, have a beer.”

  Andrew and Franco take the beers, but then begin to talk at an unbelievable pace, one even Ralf can’t match, let alone participate in. Though hard to tell what they speak of, the tone is fierce, an in-your-face aggressive feel, not picking on just one person’s frailty, but on the whole crowd. Ralf’s wisdom has truth, Sid decides, noting the huge pupils in their eyes, when he becomes their target.

  “You damn rights it’s my boat… and has it got power, but not enough power … needs a jet engine … a jet fighter missile. We could cross the lake in two minutes flat, keep going right through the bush on the other side. You wanna come for a rocket ride?” Franco coyly glances at one cousin’s wife.

  Then as fast as they appeared, Andrew and Franco disappear in the darkness. The level of intoxication around the fire now allows only partial notice of the two. Sid truly does understand the desire to be in an altered state, perhaps he understands too well. But now he stands almost alone on a new beach, one with a different view.

  When Franco and Andrew stumble back, they search out even higher peaks of unnatural acts, but the party absorbs them as part of its own frolic, accepting them as a new and exciting wing of induced freedom. Sid feels torn between the desire to socialize with his cousins – his family – and the wisdom of the older generation. Wisdom, or perhaps needing to keep distance from his own past, when meaningless words and superficial philosophy always ended in emptiness, gives him decision, and he slips off into the darkness, finding his way back to the hall where the Fairmont waits.

  He feels his eyelids hang heavy as he drives, alone, back along the lakeshore towards the cabin, past Franco’s boat driven fully up on the gravely beach by the dock. The slightest tinge of light glimmers across the lake, as the northern lights fade, dancing a finishing jig. He walks carefully, fumbling, through cabin darkness into his bedroom, falling exhausted for the night.

  ###

  The hall greets Sid’s arrival
next morning, as he, along with Jo and daughter, enter a fairly subdued atmosphere, wafting aromas of breakfast. He spots Ryan wolfing down his pancakes and he wanders over. Ryan’s eyes hang swollen with a morning-after-the-party glaze.

  “Morning Ryan. Wanna go fishing?”

  “Too late for fishing,” says Ryan hoarsely between bites. “Have some breakfast. Good sausages.”

  “How long did the party go?”

  “I dunno. Three or four. Weren’t you there? Franco and Andy were crazy.”

  “They seemed pretty messed up. Some kinda dope?”

  “Andy had something he called Little Budas or something, that’s what Franco said. They sure were crazy … but I dunno, they were kinda assholes too.”

  “Little Budas? Never heard of that. Hey, you goin’ back to Saskatoon today? You want a ride?”

  “Yah, sure. When you leavin’?”

  “Uncle Nick flies out today … and Andy’s plane leaves around four, so if we leave at say just after lunch …”

  “Yah, OK.”

  Sid wanders over to the breakfast table for a plate. Tired bleary-eyed cousins wander around in the sadness of an ending. As Sid piles his plate, he notices Uncle Nick chatting with his siblings. He walks over, greeting everyone as he sits to eat and confirm the travel schedule.

  “You flying out today, right Uncle Nick?”

  “Yah, this evening. Are you my ride?”

  “Well, I’m going back through Saskatoon. What time do you fly out?”

  “Nine tonight.”

  “Ohh, Nick, you really should stay longer,” his sister interjects. “Such a long trip for such a short visit.”

  “You know Teresa, I’d love to. But I have a meeting in Miami tomorrow. There’s a tropical fish dealer there … but thanks. A ride to the city would be great, Sid.”

  “OK,” he hesitates. “It’s just that Andy flies out at four.”

  “Hey, a few hours in Saskatoon is cool … maybe I’ll visit Ryan.”

  “Sure. Ryan’s coming too … so you two can talk”

  Andy wanders in, as a sheep returning to the flock. His hair sticks out, his earring missing and it looks like he might have slept – or not – in his clothes. Amy walks up to him at the food table, so Sid finishes his orange juice before approaching slowly.

  “… yes, you should come. Believe it or not, I’ve never been to San Francisco but I could meet you there …” Andy sips a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, we could never afford it,” Amy’s voice quivers. “I don’t know, I might mention it to Bryan, but it would be a miracle if we came.”

  “Look, Amy, here’s my cell number. Call me anytime.” Amy takes the card, heading off towards her children.

  “Hey Andy, you look terrible,” says Sid. “You still want that ride?”

  “For sure,” he gazes over his styrofoam cup. “But you know, Franco said he wants me to go with him part way … he’s going to Prince Alfred.”

  “Oh … to Prince Alberta. Yah, well we can all meet in Shellbrook then.”

  “Thanks Sid, appreciate it. You know, I wish I could have a shower.”

  “Yah, you need one,” Sid sniffs, smiling. “Let’s head back to the cabin, we can grab our stuff from there too.”

  Andy’s hand trembles as he sips his coffee and they walk towards the yellow door. This cousin seems alive enough this morning, after his ride on the wild side. Exotic substances seem a more careless way of living to now AA Sid, though alcohol is just another drug in his mind, albeit a legal one. The short-term illusions of OKness, followed by the long-term shallow boat launch into the lake of destruction, well, that’s how it is for some, like himself, like Uncle Harry, and who knows how many others …

  “Detach.” Sid whispers softly to himself.

  Chapter 7

  Relatives stand around the yellow steel door, embracing through spouting tears that quickly dry in the strong wind gusting in off Sahiya Lake. Young and old mingle, sharing in promises of phone calls and visits.

  Franco pulls in with his truck, towing a caravan of camper trailer and boat behind. Ryan sneaks out of the camper to throw his small bag into the Fairmont, while Sid walks up to Franco’s window, and peers into his gaunt eyes.

  “Meet you at Shellbrook Turbo then?”

  “We will,” Franco’s hoarse voice matches Ryan’s.

  When Sid sees his passengers around the Fairmont, he winks at Franco, and walks over to the car. Uncle Nick rests his elbow on the car roof while Ryan stands with hands under chin on the open back door.

  “You guys ready?” Sid asks.

  “Yes … got my bags in the back …” Nick turns to his siblings. “OK, you guys, come to the tropics when the snow flies.”

  Uncle Nick swings into the front seat, his smiling face wrestling with sad eyes. Ryan nestles into the back seat with the luggage. They roll slowly across the gravel, waving behind, as they pull out onto the pavement.

  The wind chops the lake surface into rolling whitecaps. Sid sits silent for a moment nursing his own sadness, as the churning waters and wild tree-lined beaches of Sahiya Lake fall behind. Each returning to their own life leaves distance between. As they gain highway speed, poplar trees sway hard with green leaves waving a million rowdy goodbyes on either side of the ditch. A flock of ducks flies low and dogged over the trees, flapping vigorously into the strong afternoon wind. Sid breaks the silence, asking Uncle Nick how the get-together had been for him.

  “You know, it was a darn good visit.” Uncle Nick’s eyes stare out along the road luring them towards its disappearing point. “So nice to see Andy again and hear about Loli. It was good to see you guys and everyone else too.”

  “Did you hear any more about Uncle Harry?” says Sid. “Too bad he never showed up.”

  “Harry, yah, Harry. Teresa said he never got back to her. He’s living his own way, I guess.”

  “It’s a pretty carefree lifestyle in some ways,” Sid raises an eyebrow at his uncle. “I mean he’s got some kind of freedom, not really being responsible for much.”

  “You did some serious drinking,” says Uncle Nick. “Was it freedom for you?”

  “Well, at the beginning, I would have to say yes, it was absolutely freeing – no worries, no concerns. Most in AA say that, if they could stay irresponsibly intoxicated forever, they would.” Sid thinks for a second. “But later, it was sort of like a rescue mission that came for me. So you don’t get rescued from freedom, do you?”

  The cousins at the party had had their euphoria, but only briefly. Sid has heard few alcoholic stories with happy endings, only happy beginnings. The attraction lies in those illusive moments at the start, when everything is right with the world. If only they would go on forever, but markets nor life are like that – short-term gain and long-term pain.

  “I never knew Uncle Harry had a daughter,” Sid adds. “That’s another cousin I’ve never met.”

  “Yes, he had a girlfriend or a drinking partner for a few years,” says Nick. “But fortunately for the daughter she was taken away and adopted out when she was two or three.”

  Sid watches Uncle Nick’s gaze drift over to settle on the farmstead Ksandra lived her short seventeen years. He wonders what thoughts pass through his uncle’s mind as they drive past, recalling their unfinished conversation from the hall. He glances at his uncle, but Nick is just turning to the back seat.

  “Hey Ryan, you should come down to Costa Rica,” says Uncle Nick. “There’s a fellow just down the street I think you should meet. He walks down to the fishing hole just about whenever he feels like it.”

  “Really? No kidding? He just walks from home.” Ryan brightens. “So there is fishing close to your place.”

  “I guess I forgot about the rivers. My aquarium fish come from the ocean, but yah, Pepe just goes down to the river with a pole and bait. Everyone calls him Pepe; I don’t know his real name. He’s one happy guy.”

  “You know Uncle Nick,” Ryan sounds almost determined. “I’m going t
o give it a try. I have some vacation. When’s a good time?”

  “Winter’s a nice time to leave Canada. January or February. Rainy season peaks in October or November down there. Hey, come for Christmas. They throw paper snow around the streets.”

  “Yah, I have room on my cards. Or I can get another one.” Ryan explodes into a moment of excitement. Then he glances at his uncle, and quietly continues, “OK Uncle, it’ll be the last time I use them. I promise.”

  “You know Ryan, Pepe hasn’t got any credit cards. He wouldn’t even know what to do with one if he did. In fact he doesn’t have much at all, besides a lot of smiles, but maybe you can pick up on a thing or two from him.”

  “How does he buy anything?” says Ryan.

  “He has nothing to spend, so he doesn’t need to buy anything,” says Uncle Nick quietly. “It’s hard to describe, maybe it looks like he has nothing, but he really does have something. Could be what you’re looking for, or not. You’ll have to meet him and see how he lives.”

  “Sounds like the guy lives the life of Riley in a way,” says Sid. “How do the neighbours look at him though?”

  “No problem there. The work ethic just isn’t that demanding in Costa Rica so his laid back way of living fits right in.”

  Sid wonders if a guy could emulate Pepe by choice, having nothing more than a daily smile and a life free of possessions. Now that would be a way to be free of financial worries.

  “So if he’s just a happy guy who owns nothing …” says Sid, “well, I suppose there’d be no use running advertising campaigns aimed at him. You admire Pepe, hey Uncle.”

  “He’s really got something,” Uncle Nicks nods. “I don’t completely know what it is yet, but I do want to know. A deeper kind of satisfaction, some kind of inner joy.”

  You don’t have to go to another country to find joy, Sid thinks. Look at sister Jo. She’s a special case of investment in her own type of satisfaction. Very intelligent. Very committed, yet not to consumerism. A natural drive for friendships, happy moments of generosity and peacefulness with the pottery wheel. She has a freedom worth chasing. She hacks out her own version of Grandpa’s rich grain field. Could she have a bit of what Uncle Nick seeks, something past happiness?

  They slip by the house at Witchekan Lake, the pattern of stonework around the full height windows on the balcony gazing out over the swampy lake.