The bus dropped him at the station in Duluth, and he hitchhiked the forty or so miles north on highway 61 to Silver Bay. A nice woman in the horseshoe-shaped business area downtown had directed him to his grandfather’s house. She told him to start at Outer Drive, walk past Mariner Mountain Park, go two miles beyond till he came to a gravel road. Turn right on the gravel road, she told him.
“It’s a way up the gravel road that meanders west and north,” she told him. Alex didn’t know it, but it was an excellent jumping-off point for those seeking adventure on the Superior Hiking Trail. He also didn’t expect it to go as far as it did.
Carrying all his possessions in a tan duffle bag, the walk from downtown to his grandpa’s cabin took two-and-a-half hours.
He wore a Twins baseball cap, a Vikings shirt, no socks, too tight of tennis shoes, and gray sweat pants.
Fifteen-year-old Alex stood in front of a massive red pine door. It had been battered by something big, probably a bear, he thought. Claw marks ran inches away from the top to the middle. He’d been told by his father that his grandpa built the door from an old red pine broken in half by a windstorm nearly forty years ago.
Well, I’m here, he said to himself, slid the duffle bag from his shoulder and looked around. He didn’t know if this had been a good idea or not—to come here, but here he was, and if it didn’t work out, he’d go somewhere else, maybe Canada.
As he wandered around the property situated on the hillside and well off of the main road, he noticed that trees formed an arc around the back of the place. They seemed to go on forever, and as far as he knew, they did. He didn’t know what kind they were, but if he’d paid attention to his dad, he’d have known they were Cedar, Fir, White, Spruce, and Jack Pine, Ash, Aspen, Birch, Maple, and a few more deciduous trees thrown in.
Just a little exploring, he thought. Alex hiked around the back of the cabin and started into the woods. The ground was rocky and, to be honest, the thin soles of his tennis shoes transferred the hard points of the numerous rocks straight to the tender underside of his feet.
Not good.
He carefully picked his way back to the front of the cabin and sat on what passed for a front porch. It looked like a bunch of black railroad ties dragged up from the nearest railway line and haphazardly placed in front of the doorway.
No one seemed to be around so he debated whether to knock on the door or just sit and wait outside. He stood back up and knocked. No answer, so he chose a tie he liked and sat. An hour later, the light was dimming and the mosquitos appeared. He slapped here and there and kept them at bay until a great swarm of them, like heat-seeking missiles, descended, intent upon satisfying their bloodlust. Launching himself in the air, he did a three-sixty while slapping and dancing around the front yard.
“Now that was entertaining,” said a voice coming from the open doorway.
“You’re home?” Alex said.
“Been here the whole time. I thought you’d give up and go away by now, but when you started the little jig, you gave me such a fit of laughter that I couldn’t hold back anymore.” The old man paused, before quickly adding, “You get in here now before I let any more of those little devils in the house.”
Alex slapped as many mosquitos from himself as he could, plucked his duffle bag from the ground and dashed into the cabin.
Nothing was said for a while, except the old man nodded at Alex and told him to put his duffle in the corner. Then he rummaged around near the ancient stove, stocked it with wood and brought a fire to life.
“It’ll take a little while to get going the way I like, but it’ll be ready for cooking in twenty minutes or so.”
“So how come you didn’t answer the door when I knocked?”
“Told ya, I was hoping you’d just give up and leave.”
Alex’s lips scrunched a little, and he didn’t say anything, debating whether to tell the old man that he was his grandson.
“What?” the old man said.
“What, what?” Alex’s head snapped upward.
“You looked like you were going to say something, then changed your mind.”
Alex swayed his head back and forth like he was in a trance and tapped his thigh with his right hand. This was going to be tougher than he thought.
The old man continued to stare at him with increasing expectations making Alex more and more self-conscious, putting pressure on him to respond in some way.
“I’m Alex,” he blurted out.
“Well, at least I got a name out of you. I’m Alan. Looks like we got something in common. Both our names start with a.”
“Oh yeah, we do,” said Alex. That drew a curious look from the old man.
Alex twiddled his thumbs a bit before asking, “Does my name mean anything to you?” The expression on his face begged for an answer.
Alan ceased stoking the fire, looked in the air as if he was trying to recall something, until finally saying, “Nope.” Then he turned around and continued stoking the fire.
Alex’s shoulders sagged visibly before he said, “I didn’t think so.”
The old man looked at him again. This time more seriously. “What’s with you, kid? You come out here at the end of the day, no means of getting here, just walking right up, and then you wait around till I can’t stand it any longer until I let you in, and your name should mean something to me?” His words weren’t angry, but they were forceful and true. “Where you from?”
Alan noticed the kid’s foot tapping on the floor like it would never end.
“You nervous? Or you gotta piss?”
Alex stopped tapping his foot. “You really don’t know my name and you don’t recognize me?”
Alan stood motionless, studying the kid with an intensity that alarmed Alex. There was a long pause until Alan walked near to take a closer look.
After thirty of the longest seconds Alex had ever endured, Alan said, “I don’t know any black kids and I don’t know your name. My first thought was that you came up here and maybe wanted to break in and take something. You have a little familiar look to you, but I can’t say I ever saw you in my life.” The old man stepped back, turned and examined the fire.
“Looks like it’ll be ready pretty soon. You like baked beans? I got plenty of ‘em.”’
“You have a son, name’s Pete,” Alex said.
That caught the old guy's attention. He froze for a moment before he slowly pivoted toward Alex.
