Black Balloon

Chapter 18

My goal for the next day was to make my new digs more livable. Using Frank's instructions as a guide, I began the process of de-winterizing "The Shack," starting with the gas tank behind the house. I opened the valve and heard the hiss of gas flowing. Then, while praying I wouldn't be turned into a glorious cloud of meat confetti, inserted a long-stemmed match into the kitchen oven and ignited the pilot. It lit with a big burst of flame causing me to conk my head while attempting to scramble away. In hindsight, I'm not sure how far I would have gotten, the explosion presumably being much faster than I, but fight-or-flight instinct is bound by no such logic.

There was a toolshed behind the house secured with a padlock. Frank's note said I'd find the keys in the junk drawer, which I did. I tried them all, dozens of them, until one finally worked. Inside was a canoe, some old bicycles, tools; shovels, rakes, an axe, and assorted other woodshed paraphernalia, all the accoutrements of a middle-aged dad. Above my head, lying across the rafters, were two oars and a raggedy life vest, all of it covered in cobwebs and dust.

Next, I turned on the outside well pump with the flip of a giant switch. Having given this no forethought whatsoever, I was caught off guard when water immediately began flowing from everywhere; the shower, the sinks, the outside spigot. Pipes rattled and faucets spit and coughed as water blasted from every one of the home's orifices. I ran around like mad cutting them all off, and soaking myself in the process. After changing clothes, I lit the gas hot-water heater and reconnected the toilet supply line, which thankfully had been the one thing that was actually shut off.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment and with the great relief of now having hot water and a working toilet, I treated myself to a shower and another pot of Miles' patented unground-bean-water. I drank the whole thing, rendering myself too jittery to sit down, so decided to go for a walk. I had not yet explored my immediate neighborhood, (not in the daylight at least.)

To my pleasant surprise it was twenty degrees warmer than it had been that morning, and at least ten degrees warmer than yesterday. The midday sun shone through the trees, casting stippled light over the snow-covered ground. The sky was perfectly clear and blue. The world stood still. Motionless pine trees glistened with freshly melted frost. Most of the snow had fallen from the branches and now lay melting on the needle-covered ground.

I started down Lake Road which was still covered in patches of ice, snow that had been packed hard by my tires the day before, and subsequently frozen solid. I walked past the mish-mash of neighboring cabins. None of them appeared occupied. Their windows were dark and no footprints covered their snowy steps. For the time being, it seemed I was the only resident on Lake Road. It was my fortress of solitude, a lonely man's paradise on the end of a dead-end trail.

Before I knew it, I found myself at the end of the road where it met Highway 321. The temperature had risen even further now, into the the low fifties, practically a heat wave compared to yesterday. I strolled along beside the Harriett River, eventually arriving back in downtown Shiloh. It had taken me only twenty minutes to get to town on foot. On one of Frank's rusty old bicycles, I could probably do it in 5.

I ate lunch at Frank's Diner, the meatloaf special worth every penny of its $1.50 price tag, and topped it off with a Pabst Blue Ribbon at the Flatbush Pub, sitting on the patio and watching the river trickle down the mountain. On my return trip, I popped in the General and picked myself up a six-pack of PBRs for the road. The proprietor, not any friendlier than before, gave me a nod as I entered and a grunt as I left.

Back at the cabin, I stuffed the beer into what little snow remained on the porch and decided to drag the canoe out of its dormancy. The floor of the shed was dirt. As I flipped over the canoe, a swarm of earwigs and cave crickets scattered from beneath it. This gave me serious heebie jeebies so I performed a thorough inspection before using it. I turned the canoe upside down and slapped the underside a half-dozen times to dislodge any would-be stowaways.