The Legend Unleashed. L.S. Strange
he’ll ruin it! I can’t stand him.”
Scott’s face was turning several shades of red as he bellowed his objections.
“Now calm down. You’re in your heart attack years.” She knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment it was out of her mouth. You never tell someone that’s worked up to calm down. It only makes things worse.
“Calm down? Calm down? That brother of yours is a menace, and everyone would be happier if he weren’t around! And by the way, who invited him anyhow? How did he know we were going?” Scott sputtered.
“Bob is tough to take sometimes, I’ll give you that. But he doesn’t have anyone, and he enjoys going along. He asked me last week what I was doing this weekend, and I told him I was painting because you and Michael would be camping. He wanted to go. He said he liked everyone who was going,” Laura cooed, knowing she was on shaky ground.
“Did you ask any of us if we liked him? He doesn’t have anyone because he is such an asshole! He only enjoys himself if he is making someone else’s life miserable!” Scott tried to control his anger, but the words shot out in bits and pieces like projectiles being launched. Laura stroked Scott’s hair and continued in her soothing honey voice.
“Please put up with him for me, okay?”
Scott, shaking his head back and forth, said, “There is no way. No way you both came from the same gene pool. He has to be adopted. Was he left on your parent’s front porch by aliens?” He looked into her heavenly pleading eyes, and his will crumbled. “Okay, okay, but this is the last time, and I mean the absolute last time!”
Laura smiled and said, “It won’t be so bad. Besides, your brother is going.”
“Don’t even go there. John’s been moving all over creation because of his job, and I haven’t seen him in years. Now that he’s finally home, I’m going to spend some time with him, and nothing’s going to stop it. Not even Bob, understand?”
“I can’t help that he chose to be a computer nerd.”
“He’s not a nerd. He’s a software engineer. He makes a hell of a lot more a year than B-O-B, who was lucky to have enough money to go pick up his minimum wage paycheck! No one wants to hire his lazy ass!” Laura had no response. Scott was right.
Instead she said, “Awe, you can do it baby ’cause ‘you da man.’” She hugged his neck, and he smiled.
“Yeah, I’m da man all right. I’m da man who’s gonna have a lot of trouble for the next fourteen days. Didn’t you say these were my heart attack years? What are you trying to do to me?”
Laura smiled at him and said, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go round up Michael.”
As Scott left the kitchen, Laura’s brow furrowed. She had a bad feeling about the trip. Nothing she could put her finger on. Just bad. She certainly couldn’t ask Scott to reschedule without a valid reason. Must be woman’s intuition.
They had a nice meal, and the rest of the evening was uneventful. By 10:30 p.m., the Smithfield household was asleep.
Chapter 3
Dawn came at 4:28 a.m. the next morning, and the Smithfield house was buzzing with activity. John was the first one to arrive, prompt as usual.
He emerged from the taxi wearing stiff new blue jeans with the waist of the pant worn high above his bellybutton, a thin black belt and a plaid shirt that was buttoned all the way up to his neck.
The plastic breast pocket liner was stocked full of every kind of pen, pencil, and highlighter you could imagine. It was anyone’s guess why he would need these writing utensils for a camping trip.
John stepped out of the cab and reached back to retrieve his belongings. He removed his backpack without a problem. This was quite a feat in itself, for John was not a graceful man. As he pulled out his fishing pole, the hook caught in the upholstery of the back seat and refused to budge. The cabbie lost control.
“Hey, Pal! Watch the upholstery!” John leaned down into the back of the cab struggling to free the stubborn hook. When he did this, all the pens spilled from his pocket to the floor.
“Today! Move it!” The driver bellowed becoming more irritable with each passing second.
The angrier the cabby got, the more flustered John became only making the situation worse. Just as the driver was about ready to burst, Scott appeared at John’s side. With ease, Scott released the fishing pole hook from the upholstery and effortlessly removed the rest of John’s belongings, including the pens, from the back of the taxi. He walked around to the front and paid the driver then helped John carry his stuff over to the trailer.
“Thanks,” John whispered sheepishly. John was three years older, and Scott was always coming to his rescue. He smiled understandingly at John. “We’re gonna have a great time!”
The next one to arrive was the dreaded Bob. He raced up in a 1974 Gremlin with a modified engine. After shifting into park, he revved it hard three times causing loud rumbles from the glass packs to shatter the early morning silence. Bob shut off the engine, gulped the last of his beer, crushed the can, and chucked it into the back seat. He got out of the car and slammed the door. The extreme quiet amplified all of his movements, which were already as loud as a rock concert. As he walked to the back of the vehicle, he belched, farted, and scratched his butt. To add a final touch, he blew the contents of his nose onto the pavement by closing one nostril with his index finger and discharging profusely through the open canal.
Bob lifted the hatchback and had to hold it in place because the shocks were broken. With his free hand, he pulled out a filth crusted gunnysack filled with his necessities for the trip. The gunnysack was an old baseball gear bag made of green canvas. His fishing pole protruded out the top. Bob leaned the bag against the back of the car. The hatchback door slipped from his hand and crashed down against the frame of the opening snapping off the end of his fishing pole. He instantly lost his mind and began swearing loudly.
Violently he grabbed the bag, not bothering to retrieve the broken part of the pole and continued to complain as he strutted up the walk to the house.
The last ones to arrive were Ron, and Michael’s friend Noah. As he pulled up to the house, Laura stood on the front porch offering a pot of hot coffee and orange juice. Ron took everyone’s gear to the trailer. What a fantastic trailer it was! Must have cost a bundle, he thought as he looked around. Scott had purchased it just a few weeks ago, and this would be her maiden voyage. Because of this, Scott teasingly wrote in large bright red letters on a sign that was hung on the door, “Titanic.” Then he broke his beer bottle on the edge of the trailer christening it as such.
The trailer was thirty-two feet long with white fiberglass siding that had a fat blue stripe down each side. At the back end, a door opened into a bedroom that contained three bunk beds. The door from this bedroom led to a small bathroom that contained a sink, vanity, and toilet on one side. Directly across from it was a small shower and tub. Leading out the other side of the bathroom was the kitchen and dining areas. The kitchen was on one side of the trailer, and the dining table was on the other. At the end of the kitchen counter was a breakfast bar and two barstool type chairs. Next to it was the other entrance to the trailer. Parallel to the kitchen was the dining area and directly from that was the living area. At the end of it was a small four-foot-long, four-foot-high entertainment unit that held a Smart TV, Blue Ray player, and CD stereo. Continuing along at the far end of the trailer just off from the living area was another bedroom with a double bed.
The streamline trailer comfortably slept nine adults, so accommodation would not be an issue. The design did not allow for dead space as every inch was utilized.
This trip would be excellent. Much better than using nylon tents and sleeping bags on air mattresses.
The only concern with the trailer was the interior color choices. It had a color scheme that seemed to be designed for women with pastels and floral patterns, and not a bunch of men.