The Explosion

It is grey and chilly this Sunday morning in Midfield, Wisconsin, but the Hunter Family has planned a picnic for that day, a final sendoff before the onset of Northern Winter, and so a picnic there will be. Because of the autumnal nature of the endeavor, the family will forsake its normal spot on the north beach and picnic at the south end of the beach, where, during summer, there are carousels and concession stands. This end of the beach also has picnic tables and burners and bathrooms, all helpful in the chill air.

Mass has been attended and each family member is doing his or her share to prepare for the outing.

The night before, mom has fried chicken the old-fashioned way and also crispy pork chops, then created gravy from the drippings of both. This morning she is layering the two in the family's huge roasting pan, pouring gravy over both and adding potatoes and onions and carrots. This ambrosiatic mixture will simmer over the charcoal burner at the beach, wafting hunger-pain inducing fumes over the area for several hours. The final product, when finally imbibed will produce greasy fingers and greasy smiles throughout the family.

Ernie struggles up from the basement with a large stout wicker basket in which he will collect every sort of ball the family owns.

Lee is on the phone to her latest beau, exchanging the latest gossip and explaining why she will not be available until late evening.

Les is grouching in the corner, mumbling to no one about the unfairness of his having to go with the family instead of "out with the guys".

Jeff sits quietly in the nook in the kitchen, reading Phillip Jose Farmer's "The Lovers". To any other child, everyone would be saying that the book is too advanced, too adult for a twelve-year-old. If anyone had presumed to tell Jeff what to read, he would most probably have read the book faster, finishing before anyone could take action.

Dad, having already accomplished the most important task of packing the cooler with ice, soft drinks and PBR, is now struggling out to the front stoop with the giant inner tube he has procured for the family by winning a bet with his best friend Mickey over a bout on the Friday Night Fights. A bet dad never loses because Mickey does not own a TV. Mickey never knows that every week one of the fights is a replay dad has already seen on Wednesday night. The inner tube is taller than dad's head and a diffused rubber red, purportedly a tube from the landing gear of a C-130.

Ernie, finished rounding up the balls, comes down the stairs wearing a t-shirt and his swimming suit. Although she is in the next room, mom somehow senses his attire and calls out to him: "Ernie, go upstairs and put a sweat shirt and some long pants on.

"Whadya mean?" Ernie says. "I thought we were going to the beach."

Les laughs harshly. "It's October ya stupid little jerk!"

"Ma-ah", Ernie starts.

"Never mind. Les cut it out, quit picking on your brother!"

"Ernie, listen to me," mom says. "We are going to the south beach, the picnic area to have a picnic. Not to 'the rocks' where we usually go, because it is too cold to swim and because it is October and it won't be as crowded as usual. Now please go upstairs and change into long pants and a sweatshirt."

Ernie, shoulders sagging and head down, clumps up the stairs muttering, "But I thought we was going swimming. I want ta go swimmin."

"Were going," mom yells up the stairs, "not 'was going'. Now where the heck is Jeff?"

"Jeff? Jeff? Where the heck are you?" Looking around for a few minutes she finds Jeff hunched up with his book in the corner of the breakfast nook. Shaking his shoulder and grinning broadly because, underneath, she is pleased with his love of books she says: "Yoo, Hoo wake uh-up, is there anybody in there?"

"Just a sec mom, gotta finish this chapter."

"No not just a second, now. I have already called the cab."

"Oka-ay", dad's loud voice booms from the front of the house. " Let's go-o! The cab is here."

Jeff bounds off and heads toward the stairs, yelling back over his shoulder, "Be right down, gotta get a book"

Les slouches out of the kitchen. "Ya already got a book, numbskull. It's in your hand."

"Yeah but I don't wanna finish this one yet, so I want to start another?"

Dad's voice booms again, really loud this time. "Cab's here!" Adrift on a river of cacophony and confusion, the family flows toward the front porch, sweeping baskets and balls and coolers and roasting pans and one huge red inner tube toward the waiting yellow cab. Harvey, our usual driver for Sundays, sits patiently waiting, having weathered this flood many times.

The Hunter family does not own a car. They are 'too poor', though they seem to be able to afford many cab fares. (Thirty years later, at an ALANON meeting, Jeff will discover the true reason his family went carless all those years was probably because his dad never wanted to drive under the influence, a state he was usually in if not working or going to church.) Finally the big red inner tube is squeezed into the voluminous trunk of the old, square "Checker". The Hunter Family is off to a day's adventure at the "South Beach".

During the short drive to the beach, Ernie is constantly muttering under his breath, "I still don't see why we can't go swimming. Why are we taking the tube if we ain't goin swimmin'?" "Aren't," Mom corrects automatically. Dad is morose and mom is trying to be light and gay. Ernie is griping to himself and Lee reaches to the tiny device beneath her bra and turns everyone off, peering soundlessly out the window. If she wishes to 'hear' one of us she will turn toward us and read our lips. Jeff is of course reading, this time an Azimov "robot story".

Unloading all the gear is accomplished laboriously but quickly and, as if by magic, the table is set up with red checkered cloth, mom is reading the Sunday papers, and dad is tending the simmering 'ambrosia', ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon in hand.

Duane says, I'm goin' for a walk and trots off down the beach. Lee sits absorbed in her own thoughts.

"Hey Jeff, Ernie chirps, "wanna go hunt for crayfish? Huh? Do ya? Jeff? JEFF?"

"Huh? Wha? Oh. Oh sure Ernie", Jeff finally replies, putting aside a tale about his favorite woman, Susan Calvin. Other than her, of course. Her being sweet Constance Brennan of the sixth grade, with the million freckles tracing a trail above her knees, beyond which Jeff's eyes dare not wander nor imagination leap.

Life, emerging adolescence, troubles of all sorts, even Ernie's swimming, fade out of existence for several hours as the two boys, trouser legs rolled up, prance around, turning over seaweed-covered rocks, then racing slipperily after the backward-skittering creatures. The two boys capture many, grasping them carefully behind their pincers. After inducing the tiny crustaceans to crush small objects in their strong claws, all are released to scurry back under their rocks. It is a time for brothers. A time of sweet, unspoken and unspeakable intimacy. A time out of time and for all time. The small, thoughtless physical contacts, the painless punches and smiling shoves, will soon be forever washed away by the onrush of manhood, duty, responsibility. But for now the two boys move as one, unguided and uncontrolled.

Sooner or later, though, it had to come. "Hey, Jeff."

"What Ernie?"

"How come I can't go swimmin', huh?"

"You don't have a suit!"

"Hah! Gotcha there! See," pulling down the band of his Levis to reveal the suit concealed beneath.

"Better not let dad see that."

"Well, why not. Jeez"

"You know dad. When he says no, that's it. Besides. He. He . . ."

"He what?"

"Never mind."

"No. What? He what?"

"He's probably had about a six-pack by now."

"Well, so what, he always has a six-pack or so?"

"Look. Haven't you figured it out by now? If he hasn't had any, don't ask for anything. If he has had two or three you can ask for almost anything. But if it's more than three, or if that little brown bottle has come out of hiding, then you just stay away. I call it 'beer gauging'.

"Wow! Damn you're smart. How come I never figured that out?"

"Well, uh, I guess I have had a few more years to figure it out, that's all!"

"Huh. Hmm. I'll try to remember that. That's damn smart. You figure that out all by yourself?"

Jeff rolls his eyes toward the picnic area. "Naw. I had plenty of help"

The two boys giggle and push and roll around in the sand for a bit, not really wrestling, but faking it.

Back at the picnic area, all is about the same. Lee has wandered off somewhere. Les, a thin cord running from the tiny Japanese transistor radio in his jean pocket to his ear, has his eyes closed, his hips and feet move to some rock and roll number, probably Buddy Holly.

There is one big difference. A large loud family of a dozen or so members has moved into the adjoining area and has pushed three tables together spread with tablecloths and food of all varieties. They are loud and raucous and obviously having a great time. Five or six children are running around playing some variation of 'tag'. A few adults are playing cards. A small radio is playing not too loudly and a small dog is yapping and prancing around on its hind legs.

Jeff glances over at his dad. The little brown bottle is not in evidence, but then, others are around, so if it is present, it is well concealed. "Hmm, better be cautious anyway", he subconsciously muses.

"Hey! I know! Let's roll the tube down the hill. We can take turns. One of us can roll it from the top and see how far it can go. The other can stay at the bottom and catch it! Huh? Wanna?"

"Sure, okay Ernie, sounds like fun. Jeff would rather escape to the safety of his sci-fi, but is reluctant to leave Ernie alone. The game is soon afoot and proves to be great fun, if somewhat difficult. Ernie's small hands can push only from the side. Jeff himself can reach the top of the huge red donut only with difficulty. The boys play the new game dozens of times, becoming more and more proficient in its propulsion. The giant rubber tube rolls a very long way if propelled properly, then jiggles and wobbles, rolls imperfectly, then finally flops over on its side. One huge drawback to the game is lugging the mass back up the hill.

"Let's both push it together as hard as we can and see if we can roll it all the way to the water," Jeff suggests.

"Cool," Ernie replies.

They begin back about fifteen feet from the downward slope and are running before they release the red giant. It swoops gratifyingly down the hill, gathering speed with each rotation, hits a bump, veers, but does not lose speed.

"Uh oh." Ernie says. Jeff's mouth opens, lips spread. The monster tube is racing straight for the end of the other family's table!

"Oh my gosh. Look!" Ernie's index finger is stretched out. Both boys see disaster in the making and begin running. They know they are too late but run anyway. Pantingly, desperately, they race. Both boys have seen that a long, adjustable hot dog fork juts from the end of the table, its tarnished tines clearly visible against the red and white checkered tablecloth, directly in the path of the onrushing juggernaut. It is a desperate and hopeless effort and each boy is about ten feet behind the giant red tube as it strikes the fork. Both boys are blown off their feet. Hotdogs and catsup and picallily, potato salad and beans and jello, chips, kool-aid pitchers and pop cans, napkins and plastic forks and paper plates, and even the red checkered cloth itself; are blown into the air.

Everyone begins screaming except Lee, whose back is turned. A fat woman at the other end of the table is plopped on her backside, arms akimbo. A rain of mixed goop is pouring down on everyone's head as dad approaches. Little Ernie is crying at the destruction of the one thing (in his child's immediate eye) that made our family special. No more Red Monster! It was unthinkable!

Dad immediately begins screaming at the top of his very able voice. Because strangers are present, obscenities are censored, but not insults. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid Kids! That's what you get! I knew I shouldn't have let you do that with the tube. Now! See! No more tube! And you, Jeffery, you should have known better!"

To Jeff's amazement, Ernie leaps to his feet, crying, but facing right into the old man. "You see? You see? If ya would'a let me go swimmin' like I wanted it wouldn't a happened. It'd be out there in the water instead a blown up! See? See?"

Dad's face looks for a moment as if it has been punched, but he quickly recovers. "So Swimming is that important is it? Swimming will solve everything, won't it? "Les! Les! Where's Les?" Scanning the horizon he spots Les trying to sneak away. Les. Come over here!'

Les slouches over in his slow, 'I'm a teenager' ramble.

"Take your little brother down to the water and throw him in. Stand by the shore and every time he tries to come in, throw him in again. I will let you know when you can let him out." Turning to Ernie. There! How's that for swiming?"

Les marches over and grabs Ernie's puny arm, but Ernie snatches it away. "I'm comin. Don't touch! With a wry grin he slips off his jeans to display the swimming trunks he has worn all day and marches toward the shore.

Mom is pleading, "Bob. Bob. Please?"

Dad turns and gives her one of those looks. She turns away but goes down to hover near the shore, watching her youngest like a momma hawk.

Jeff is crying, sobbing out loud from fear and anger and frustration. His dad turns to him. "And you! You will go immediately to this family here and apologize to them all and you will clean up all the mess you have made."

Jeff's weeping does not cease as he makes the rounds. The other family, whom Jeff finds out is called Caparelli, are Italians from the West side. The entire family is hugely embarrassed and rushes to help Jeff clean up the mess.

In about fifteen minutes, after Less has tossed Ernie back in for the second time, Mrs. Caparelli, a jolly rotund woman about mom's age siddles over and whispers to Jeff. "It's okay. It's not you fault. But you be all right. Just Don't make your pappa mad. You be okay. Sorry about your toy. Uh. The big tube thing."

Jeff's anger has stopped its flow of tears and has formed hot, hard knots in his belly and jaw.

He watches Ernie as he helps clean up. But Ernie does not cry. Not Ernie. He just keeps getting thrown in. Over and over. "Poor Les," Jeff thinks, happy for once that he is such a shrimp, such a wimp, that dad never thought of making him do it. Would he have refused? Dad? Probably not.

Jeff scurries quietly away to hide in his book, glancing up every now and then to check on Ernie's progress. By the end of forty minutes or so, (Jeff can time it by his reading speed), poor Ernie's tiny frame is blue and pimpled with chill. "If it goes on much longer I'll do something. I really will," Jeff tells himself, hoping it is not a lie, hoping he will not be tested in that way.

Finally Dad signals for Ernie's release and Les brings him over. Lee has been gone who knows where. Mom rushes over and envelopes Ernie in one of the family's enormous beach towels.

Suddenly Jeff feels a wave of anger rush over him. Out of Control he rushes over and begins yelling at Ernie. "Stupid. You stupid! You always hafta ruin everything. You and your stupid swimming! The whole damn day ruined! Ooh! You are too stupid to be my brother."

He stomps away down the beach, hating his little brother for what he has caused. Hating himself for hating Ernie. Hating Les for being mean to Ernie. Hating Lee for being able to shut it all off. And hating mom for not doing something. And hating himself for not being big. For not being strong. Tears are once again streaming down his face. His shoulders heave with racking sobs.

All at once he feels a presence and looks up. Lee is walking beside him. She stretches out her arm. "Okay, Champ" she asks before laying it across his shoulders. (she has called him 'champ' ever since his abortive involvement with CYO boxing. He nods, unable to speak. They walk on for some way in silence. After a time Lee speaks. "You musn't hate him, you know, he's very sick."

"Ernie? Is Ernie sick?" he says with some alarm. Lee laughs softly. "You certainly don't hate Ernie," she says. "Dad, I meant. You mustn't hate dad. You must try not to let it ruin you. His illness. You hafta understand that Dad hads a real sickness. I learned about it at school. Once you get as far along as dad is with the alcohol, then you can't help yourself. There is no cure. The only thing that wil work is to stop drinking forever. I don't see dad doing that.

So what you need to do is to not let Dad's sickness make you do the wrong thing. You need to go to Ernie. You need to tell him you don't blame him for what happened. You need to support him and tell im you care at a time like this,after he had just been so abused, he really looks up to you.

You are blaming all the wrong people. We all have our way of dealing with it. Mom is like you, she reads and hides in magazines and books. Les turns his music up. I turn my hearing aid off. And Jimmy had already left the family. Ernie. Now Ernie. Ah he is the defiant one. maybe it is just how he is. Or maybe he hasn't learned his particular way of coping yet. He is only nine.

You let dad's illness make you blow up at Ernie, At Les, at everybody but dad. Now go get your brother and be nice to him. You know, in a way, what he did was very brave.

Jeff paused for a minute. it was a lot for a twelve year old to absorb. He glanced up at Lee in admiration.

"Go on, Champ," she says.

Jeff turns and runs down the beach after his little brother. "Hey! Hey Ernie! Wait up!"