Near Winchester, VA - 6:07 pm
Today's story is one that I was involved in, but have no recollection of.
Many years ago, Dr. Caldwell took Adam, Gabe, Ian and I (brothers, cousins, etc.) on a week-long road trip to Quebec. We were all about the age of 13 and were quite fortunate to go on such a vacation. Poor Dr. Caldwell was not.
I cannot emphasize this enough. And I will keep returning to this point. The horror that is a road trip with four teen / pre teen boys cannot be underestimated. It ranks somewhere between "getting caught in a bear trap" and "getting caught in nuclear fallout" on humanity's scale of terror. Never forget.
While we were in Quebec City, however, Dr. Caldwell took us to a buffet-style restaurant, which was probably the perfect place for teenage boy eating habits. The great thing about this particular buffet joint is that it had a large array of pies. It being Canada, there was Maple Pie and Ian ate a ton of it.
Meanwhile, Adam and Ian had been joking about the Jehtro Tull song, "Sitting on a Park Bench." And while they were laughing about it, they saw a very large Canadian teenager eating a lot of said Maple Pie. Being the cruel teenagers that they were, they made a song about him to the tune of this song.
"Crumbs are falling out his mouth."
"He's stuffing in lots of pie."
"Canada rears some big ol' boys."
And so on and so forth, all to the song's iconic base line. It wasn't the nicest game in the world, but it's what they did. I can't sugarcoat the past, even if it was dripping with Maple Pie.
Now, if you'll allow me to digress. There's a part of that trip that really sticks out in my mind. But first of all, let's go back to poor Dr. Caldwell. He deserves some sort of humanitarian award for taking a four boys our age on a week-long road trip. I will never, ever chance such a thing and he should be commended for embarking on such a hazardous endeavor.
That said, an incredible thing happened somewhere in a Canadian pine forest. I'd never seen anything like it and I'm sure I won't ever again.
I should make clear that Adam was the oldest of us boys. He was about 15, whereas we were all about 13-ish. And being the eldest, Adam fancied himself a wildlife expert. He constantly informed us about how awesome his wildlife skills were and how much better he was at spotting animals. And at the age of 13, this both mattered and infuriated. Clearly, Adam had the skills. And clearly, we wanted them.
While we were driving through the backwoods of Canada, however, a curious thing happened - Adam started to spot an incredible array of moose. Every mile or so, he would shout that he saw another one. Moose that none of us ever saw. It was almost as if he were fabricating moose from thin air (and if you've ever encountered a moose, you know how difficult this would be). According to Adam, moose were everywhere. And only he could see them, because his wildlife game was so good.
If Adam had even remotely been telling the truth that day, which was simply not possible, it would mean that Canada had roughly three moose per square meter. His charade was growing thin and we were growing tired of his alleged skills. Especially Gabe, Adam's younger brother.
Gabe was the youngest, but he wasn't about to be overshadowed by Adam's fabricated moose. He began calling Adam out, something Adam very much deserved. Gabe loudly mocked the faux-moose sightings in a voice imitating a five-year-old's, saying things like:
"Oh, there goes a purple moose. I see a purple moose."
"There's a moose the size of a skyscraper."
"I'm Adam and I see two-headed moose everywhere, because I'm Adam."
It was cute and annoying and Adam deserved it. But in the annals of sibling rivalry, a glove thrown like that has never gone unchallenged. And it did not go unchallenged on this day.
This is where I should give you a brief description of our vehicle's logistics. Poor Dr. Caldwell was piloting a large conversion van with room for seven to ten. Adam was riding in the bench seat in the far back while Gabe rode in the captain's chair up front. A distance of roughly seven feet. I only say this because distance is about to matter.
And boy, does it. Adam continued to call out non-existent moose. Gabe continued to mock him mercilessly. Something had to give.
Then it did. Adam grabbed a clementine, one of those tiny oranges, you know, and hurled it toward the front of the van with all of his considerable strength, considering he was 15.
And never in projectile history has a ballistic object flown so true. Adam could throw one million clementines and never again achieve the results of that particular citrus missile. The fruit hurtled toward the front of the van on a collision course with destiny and Gabe's head. And when it arrived at its destination, that clementine just exploded all over the back of Gabe's skull.
It was incredible. Gabe's head and that clementine met on some cosmic point that was pre-ordained since before Stephen Hawking kept count. Gabe's head, Adam's clementine and that afternoon were just aligned to smash into one another since the beginning of time and absolutely nothing was going to change that. The clementine literally blew up on the back of Gabe's entirely-unsuspecting dome and sprayed elements of clementine all over the van and poor Dr. Caldwell. I couldn't imagine Gabe's surprise, but I did witness it.
Then, chaos. Gabe started screaming, crying and flailing about in injured indignation. Dr. Caldwell slammed on the brakes and shouted at everyone. Ian and I tried to not exist. Adam and Gabe got a pretty good tongue lashing and then we rode in silence for what was roughly the duration of Canada.
Adam didn't mention his moose nearly as often. And Gabe didn't mock his much stronger-armed older brother again. You could say that a peace had settled upon us. But I'm sure that poor Dr. Caldwell would never agree with that statement.
