The Search for Adriana

             On the first of December our family put up Christmas lights and ornaments on the house.  But it wasn't just any ordinary decorating that was being done.  Every year for years people came from all over to lend a hand.  It had started a long time ago as something small and had turned into something big.  Our house is very large with lot's of bushes and a large stone wall circles it.  The wall stands about five feet high.  I can just see over it.  The house has been in our family for a very long time.  And even though this is true my Mom had been talking to my Dad about selling it.  They want people to look at it after all the lights are up.  My father said that it would be a good selling point, that the lights make the house look like it's from another time, my mother said from another world.  But all that would have to wait because my Dad is away.

            There are so many lights to put up.  I never realized how many there were until this year, because I had never helped from the beginning before.  Usually I'd go out with my Dad and we'd buy eggnog.  Then we'd go over to the people who didn't have much in the way of anything and give it to them.  But this year, like I said, my Dad isn't home.

            It's eight o'clock Saturday morning and already people are gathering outside,  some fifteen to twenty. People of all ages came, kids my age and younger up to people my Grandma's age.  This year my Mom had to go out and say hello and show them to the garage where the decorations are kept.  She mentioned how she was so thankful that they had come to help make Christmas live alive in Springtown once again.  She said other really nice things, and in such a quite, gentle voice that the people had to stay perfectly still as to not rustle their jackets so they could catch every word.  The people were so quiet you could have heard a church mouse saying his prayers.  It was like the Pope had come to give some important words about their salvation.

            In my Great Grandfather's time the hangers, that's what we call them, had just come from Springtown.  My Mom told me that around the time I was born they began coming from neighboring towns and more recently even from out of state.  My Mom had always tried to prepare something to drink for the people, but when it got too expensive some of the local markets put up the money for cider, eggnog and cinnamon rolls.  Every year the decorating got more and more elaborate, the hangers not only decorated but they brought ornaments and lights too.  We were running out of places to put them all.

            There were so many ornaments that some would be overlooked during the after Christmas cleanup and they'd stay up all year round.  Occasionally me and my friends would find one on the lawn or pick one off the wall or a tree.  The ornaments were of all kinds, and if we found one of the kind that exploded particularly well me and my friends would have at it with a b. b. gun.

             I was working on decorating the wall, and along with a couple people I didn't know, Mr. Mooring was working next to me.  He had been coming to the decoratings ever since he'd moved his family into town six years ago.  His son Jimmy is in my grade.  I don't know him too well, he's kind of quiet and the other kids make fun of him a lot so he keeps to himself.  I say hi when I see him but I think with everybody working bad thoughts into his heads he doesn't know which way I mean.  All he ever does is give me a worried look and then goes about his business.

            Mr. Mooring is probably the friendliest adult in town.  It is so strange to see how he is and then think about how Jimmy isn't.  They are nothing alike.  Jimmy even has red hair.  His father's and mother's hair is blonde.  Some people said that Jimmy was adopted, and some say that his parent's had found him along side the road on their way to Springtown.  I hope that isn't true .  We once lost our dog Filmore and found him miles away walking along the road.  Before he recognized us he had the most putrid look that you'd ever not want to see on a dog's face.  Because people have more to their face than a dog I'd hate to think what that same look could have been like on Jimmy's face.  If I had seen it I'd probably be up for weeks just thinking about it.

            Anyway, as we worked along Mr. Mooring turned to look at something behind him.  I wouldn't have looked but when I saw the smile in Mr. Moorings eyes I couldn't resist, because I knew who he was looking at.  It was a girl by the name of Cynthia Two ‘n Two.  She sat with her bottom planted in the snow and her legs straight out in front of her.  Her arms were locked behind her for support.  She was staring intently at one of the ornaments on the wall.  It was a tiny Christmas Man ornament, one with red and white checkered clothes.  It wore a checkered hat and checkered coat.  Only his socks were solid, bright red with a tiny touch of blue.

            I had seen her sitting there before we started working and knew why she had come.  At that time I walked over to the Christmas Man and took him from the wall but when I turned all I saw was the back of Cynthia's little head bobbing away from me.  I decided to put it back and figured that if she really wanted to have it she'd come and get it.  She must have snuck back sometime during me and Mr. Mooring's decorating.

            Mr. Mooring smiled a warm half smile at Cynthia Two ‘n Two and walked over to the Christmas Man.  He reached down and plucked the ornament form the wall.  He then went to dust off some of the dirt but when he caught Cynthia's once placid face now showing mild concern he left the little man as is and returned it to her.  That's right.  This was the ornament she loved and had waited all year to put up. 

This morning she had come to the house to find it, but after searching through the boxes, and even asking my Mom where the Christmas Man might be, she slowly shuffled away in disappointment and went to the spot where she had placed him the year before, hoping to find him.  When she arrived, even before looking to see if he was still there, she sat down in the snow.  For some time she kept from glancing up at the spot where the Christmas Man had been.  She continued to look at the ground for some time.  Finally she looked up, and when she did her worried face turned to one of great relief, because there sitting before her was the little Christmas Man.  However, she still didn't move, that worried look began to creep back onto her face.  Cynthia had been looking that way for some time.  I'd see her around a lot but when I said hi she just scrunched up her face and got all kind of squirrelly. 

Last Christmas was the first one that Cynthia Two ‘n Two had spent without her father.  Cynthia's Mom had told her that he was away on business and that he'd be home sometime soon.  But many holidays came and went that year without him showing up.  Cynthia's mom never to her why her Dad had left, she only knew that her Mom' face never looked the same.  Even when she smiled at Cynthia the smile didn't seem to have the strength to make it all the way up, up to where it used to go.

            Cynthia sat there as if looking after the Christmas Man's safety until Mr. Mooring could put him completely out of harms way.  He gently placed the ornament in Cynthia's hand, and when he did her little closed mouth went up a notch into a small, agreeable grin.  She blew on it slightly, pushed off on one arm and stood up.

            Mr. Mooring said, "Would you like me to put him up for you Cynthia?  We can find a much better place for him, one that you can even reach better."

            All Cynthia said was, "Not this morning Mr. Mooring."  And walked toward her home clutching the Christmas Man tightly in her little brown fist.

            Just as Cynthia began walking home, from around the corner of the house came the sound of raised voices.  I ran to see what the excitement was about.  It seemed that someone had forgotten the yellow paint on the sidewalk and had stepped in it.  It hadn't completely dried yet.  Mr. MacGillycuddy was standing with his left hand on his hip and a half smile on his lips as the boy exclaimed, "Well, where else does a person put his foot when a foot wants to miss the snow?"

            Every year Mr. MacGillycuddy would repaint the sidewalks at our house yellow.  Not the whole sidewalk.  He would paint a curvy yellow pattern up and down like the snow was gold and some of it had melted.  My Mom always said that snow was precious as gold, that there was nothing more beautiful than the diamond like sparkle it would make in the sun and moonlight.  She believed since she was a little girl that when the snow melted it turned from diamonds to liquid gold.  And that's why Mr. MacGillycuddy paints the sidewalks every year.

            I decided to take a short break and grab some eggnog since we had so much of it.  Nobody else took it to the people out of respect for my Dad.  On my way into the house I was stopped by Billy Peterman.  He was the son of the plowman who came around to push the snow up high at the end of our driveway.  He made it real easy for us to build a guard house at the end of the tunnel we'd make from the shoveled snow left along the driveway.  We loved to get there before Mr. Peterman drove by and make him blow the horn.

            "Milue," said Billy, "ya gotta help me."

            He was holding a Christmas ornament in his hand.  It was a big blue velvet heart with a red bow at the top and somebody's name sown into it.

            "Ya gotta help me," he said again.  This time a little louder and with some shaking of his head and hands.

            "With what Billy?"

            He looked around like somebody might attack with an iceball at any moment.  Nothing worse than having your ear cut by an iceball.  Many a snowball fight has come to a halt as the victim ran off to his mom for some medical attention.

            "This ornament is for Stephanie.  I want her to see it at the Walk Through this Sunday.  But I don't want any dumb, goofy guy seeing it.  Know what I mean?"

            I sure did.  I had felt the same way one time.  This was the first time Billy had come over to my house, never mind it being decoration day and all.  Because he had heard about the Finding Tree, after he met Stephanie, he decided to stop by and be a hanger.  He had also asked me about the tree in school and I told him that the Finding Tree was how Adriana found out how I felt about her.  It's how my Dad had told my Mom.  How his Dad told Grandma.  And way down the family line.  I heard that this way of hooking up with the girl that turned your insides into a big creamy vanilla malt goes way back to the time before Presidents.  My first Great Granddad to live in this house told his future wife how he felt about her by using the Finding Tree, and then shortly after that he took her to see Mr. Washington give his first presidential talk.

            I took the ornament from Billy and placed it on the tree, just at the right height and angle for a girl of Stephanie's height.  I also told Billy that only a girl who had a strong suspicion that a fella was interested in her would look there.  But even the one's that had no chance looked there too, just to see who they could be jealous of.  We had four Walk Throughs each December, so if they continued to not see an ornament on the Finding Tree for themselves then they'd know who to take their frustrations out on.  This happened once in a while amongst the girls in Springtown, but no one ever put words to it.  Most kept it shut up in their mouths for fear of stirring up a hornets nest.  But if some dumb, goofy guy from school happened to catch a glimpse of the name (even though guys weren't suppose to be looking) then it was accepted knowledge that if he said anything goofy and dumb he'd be tied by his thumbs with pink ribbon and lead through the school halls as he shouted:  "I'm a big, dumb goof who's just jealous that he don't have a girl for the Finding Tree."  It was always a guy without a girl that said something dumb.  I guess if you've got one your less likely to let your mouth wander enough to get you in trouble.

            Anyway, I helped Billy then I helped myself to some eggnog.  When I got outside, on my way back to continue hanging, you'll never guess who I saw?  That's right, Cynthia Two ‘n Two, sitting in the snow flat on her bottom.  But this time she had a different look on her face as she stared at the wall.  It looked as if all of life itself had decided to settle on that little wind kissed face.  Her eyes were big and wide and her mouth open ever so slightly in a delicate little "O". It seemed that if you breathed or the wind picked up just a bit that it would knock that precious "O" from her face.

            I followed her gaze to the wall and saw what had set her to amazing.  There on the wall, freshly placed sometime this morning, was a tiny ornament.  It was red and white checkered from head to toe, except for the socks, which were a solid red with a touch of blue.  Mrs. Christmas Man.  Cynthia stared at her like she had her tongue stuck to a mailbox some frozen February morning.  While looking at Cynthia I reached for the ornament.  Without moving her gaze Cynthia began to nod her head ever so slightly in reply.  I placed the ornament in her hand.  I then asked her if she'd like me to put it somewhere else on the wall.

            Cynthia simply said, "Not this year.  She's got some work to do."

            And just like that off she went, Mrs. Christmas Man and Cynthia Two ‘n Two.

            Well, the day wore on and as the sunlight got dimmer I began to get tired.  All the decorations had been placed by the people of Springtown and many other towns.  By the end of the day some hundred or so people had lent a hand in making Christmas live alive in Springtown once again.

            I was so tired when I got home that I went to bed with all my clothes on, even my coat, gloves and boots.  I barely remember my Mom helping me out of them before I went fast to sleep.  I had been sleeping soundly for some time when I woke with a start, and even though it was much later it felt like I had only been asleep for a minute.  I felt something was wrong, something was missing.  What it was I did not know.  But I knew that I had to find out.  And soon.

Chapter 2

            As I dressed I looked at the clock and noticed it was only 6:30.  I really didn't know why I was getting dressed or what I was going to do but at least I was doing something.  As I did so I heard a knock on the window of my room.  My bedroom was on the first floor.  Sometimes my friends would come by and just knock on the window without going to the front door.  I opened the shade and only saw a huge drift of snow.  I don't know how much snow had fallen but the drift covered to the top of the window.  Just as I was about to turn I heard another knock and this time saw a glove pound on the window.

            I heard a muffled "Milieu, let's go."

            I grabbed my hat and gloves and quietly snuck past my parent's room and down the hall.  When I opened the door there stood my best friend Bobbie Minor.

            "Man, check out this snow," he said.  "To bad it isn't Monday."

            "Yeah," I said.

            "Just to miss Pondgratz's class would make my day."

            "And Billings," I said.

            Bobbie didn't catch what I said he was already off on another subject.  That's what I liked most about Bobbie, he was always thinking.  He wasn't very big but if you messed with him you'd be getting pounded by an entire army.  I've never seen anyone move so fast or hit so hard.  One time three guys were giving him some lip.  He tried to not get into a fight but the guys kept pushing him, so he took care of them.  You never saw anything like it.  Right before our eyes he had turned them into a bunch of wining babies.  He could have really pounded on them more but Bobbie wasn't like that.  He'd always just get them were they wanted to run and leave it at that.

            "We have to go to the new construction and see if we can remove the storm drains before the snowplows come by."

            "Won't that ruin the trucks?"

            Bobbie looked at me like I was a bug that needed to be squished.

            "Of course it will dummy.  Let's go."

            Before I could say anything we were off and running.  Right when we got there we were greeted by another friend of ours. 

            "Hey! Where you guys going?"

            It was another member of our gang, Steven Texahoma.  He was a few years older than the other guys and always had something interesting going on in his head.  He had once taught me a great lesson about the laws of life. 

I had broken a b. b. gun my parents gave me.  I had smashed it into a tree to see how strong it was.  The advertisements said that it could withstand a hundred horses stomping on it.  I believe they were thinking of some other gun.  I told Steve I was going to tell my parents that what happened to the gun was an accident, like I had dropped it by accident.  And before I could turn to walk away he had grabbed the gun from me, held it straight out in front of him and let it go.  He nodded to me to do the same.  He said, "You should never tell a lie." 

Steve is amazing.  He'd take parts from the his tank models and design new tanks, futuristic tanks that any general would have to consider for a prototype.  One tank he made had a clear plastic turret with two machine guns on each side of the barrel.  He told me that the gunmen would be able to kill more enemies because they could see better.  He's a genius.  He also makes the best sugar rhubarb stew you'd ever want to wash across your tongue.

            As we reached the first drain another friend of ours appeared.  To tell the truth, I don't know if friend is the right word.  He was a part of the group but only because he lived on Grambling St.  If he didn't live in the neighborhood we'd probably never even talk to him.  But we were a group tightly run by our Reason Rules.  It only made sense that we should be nice to Hootey Bombard because he lived near us.  He was small and he couldn't run or throw any good but since he lived nearby, and he was going to be around anyway, then it only made sense not to be mean to him.  If every time he showed up we spent our energy being bad to him it would take away from other important things we could be doing, time spent on better things like fishing, playing baseball or building ice shields to protect us from enemy fire.

            "What are you guys doing?" said Hootey.

            "We're going to pull some drains," said Steve.

            "Are you guys nuts!" said Hootey.  "The trucks and stuff will break a tire."

            "An axle, you idiot," said Steve.

            I usually didn't go against Steve.  I sometimes didn't agree with what he was saying or doing but he always spoke like he knew what was best.  No one else I knew could say things and make them sound so much like they had to be done.  But this time I got a little worried because I was thinking of Mr. Peterman.  He was usually the one who drove the snowplow and I thought about how nice he was when he'd blow the horn after we'd make the signal.  I could see that a snowplow had already been by but the snow was building up fast and I knew one would be by again soon, and more than likely one with Mr. Peterman in it. 

            "I-I'm-I'm . . . not sure if this is such a great idea Steve."  I didn't look up to see what his eyes were saying.  I kind of knew anyway.

            "Milieu!  You siding with Hootey?"

            As his look bore into me I realized what I had done.  It was something Steve would never do.  I had compromised the Reason Rules.  It was O.K. to not be mean to  Hootey, or just ignore him like Steve usually did, but to support him was not good reasoning.  It only encouraged him to be around more often.  We didn't want to take time out to cut him apart but if we started to support things he said there was the real possibility that he might think he was our equal, or that he was a good friend, and then he'd start hanging out with us more often.  Not good reasoning.

            "It's not that I'm agreeing with Hootey, it's more that I'm worried that the person driving the truck might be Mr. Peterman."  I kind of squinted out of the corner of my eye at Steve to see if this worked.

            He scrunched up his face and put his hand on my shoulder, like my father did when he was trying to relate some of his superior life to me.  Steve had always been good to me because he knew that I threw the hardest iceball and that I could outrun anybody in school.

            "Milieu,  Mr. Peterman expects us to do things like this."

            "He does," I said hesitantly.

            "Sure!  When he was younger he did the same thing.  Why do you think he's driving the truck?"

            "I . . . don't know"

            "Because he enjoyed doing it to snowplows so much when he was younger that he wants to get the full experience now by driving one."

            "Are you sure?" I said slowly.

            In a tone that sounded like my Dad when he reassured me that he loved me, Steve said, "Yeah," in a calm, quiet voice, "I'm sure."

            You could just never ignore the fact that Steve was in control of what was really right.

            "O.K." I said smiling, while feeling a whole lot better about pulling the drains.

            And that's just what we did. 

After pulling three of them Bobbie then came up with a great idea, like he usually did.

            "Hey!  You know what would be the greatest?  Instead of watching from behind the trees or something, let's climb into the drain pipes.  When the truck hits the sound will be like cannons exploding," then in a louder voice, "or maybe even like an earthquake."

            An earthquake, I thought, that would be great.  When we were younger we lived in Alaska.  My father was working on putting pipes down for electricity and things like that.  I was too young to remember, but he said that when I was a little baby he was working and an earthquake happened.  He said that he saw the earth rise up almost as high as the trees and that the sound was like a hundred thunder storms crashing together.  After that I listened to thunderstorms and always imagined what a hundred would sound like.

            "I think that would be great," I said, almost in a trance, the crashing and booming practicing its sounds in my head.

            Steve looked at me and said, "You guys are nuts." Then with a huge smile he looked at Bobbie and said, "Let's do it!"

            We climbed down into the drain pipes and waited.   The pipes were new and pretty big so we weren't cramped up or getting all messed up, but it started to get cold real quick.  I said something to Steve but he acted like he didn't even hear me.  He just sat looking at the opening where the drain cover had been like he was possessed by some smashup demon.  I'd never seen him like this.  He'd been excited before, but after Bobbie said the trucks would sound like an earthquake you'd think Steve had caught up with a rainbow's pot of gold.

            Personally, I was just about to give up when we heard the snowplow make its descent, heading toward the first turn of the new neighborhood.  When we uncovered the drains we made sure that the last one was the first one.  We wanted to make sure that we caught the show.  The other drains were only for back up.  In case the truck missed one we'd run through the woods to the next one before the truck got there.

            As we waited it felt like an eternity.  Finally the snowplow reached the drain, and when it did I think I knew what the sound was like that my father had heard.  It was the loudest screeching boom I had ever experienced.  The sound seemed to go right through my entire body.  My flesh and bones became the sound.  It was so loud I thought that my head was going to explode.  It ripped through the cement piping and then tore through us like a mountain lion through a baby rabbit.

            I could only grab my head and start running.  We ran and ran and ran, twisting, turning, spinning out, picking ourselves up over and over again, through a maze of pipes so long that I lost track of time and distance.  We seemed to have gone to another place, another planet.  So much fired fear was tearing through me that I wasn't able to think.  My mind burned and pushed me on, and the only reason I stopped was because I took a turn too wide and slammed hard into the wall of a pipe, everyone shortly slamming into me, coming to a jarring halt.  For some time all I heard was the crashing and sucking of hard breathing, like four oceans pounding from every angle with muscled up breakwater.

            Finally, I heard someone speak, "Tha-that was the best . . . I can't believe how loud it was."

            I looked at Steve and wasn't quite sure if I could agree.  I was barely remembering what it was we had done in the first place.

            "Hell, that sounded like end of the world loud," said Bobbie, as white chunks of breath shot out with each word.

            "I don't care," said Hootey, "I'm freezing.  I just want to get out of here."

            I couldn't agree with him more. 

            "Where'd Steve go?" said Bobbie.

            It seems that shortly after he'd given his approval of what just happened that he had taken off.  We all stood up and tried to quite our breathing to see where he might be.  There was a pipe that went on in front and behind us but to our right was another pipe, a pipe that hopefully lead us to the surface.  We were in luck, because as I looked down it I could see more light than from the pipe we were in.

            "Over here," came Steve's faint voice.  He had gone down the pipe to our right.

            "There's a way out over here."

            We immediately began shuffling off quickly in the direction of Steve's voice.  We had to keep our heads tucked down but being cold kept our feet moving faster than anyone could believe they could move.  Bobbie was the first one to reach Steve and before we knew what was happening I slammed into him, followed by Hootey slamming

into me. 

            "What's going on," said Hootey as he rubbed his head.

            "Ohhhhhhh," was all I heard from Bobbie.  It sounded like he was about to pass out.  And in a second I understood why.

            "Let's go you guys.  I removed the drain, all you have to do is jump up.  Let's go."

            But there was one small obstacle.  We had been down in the pipes for some time and there are natural things that people need to take care of on a regular basis.  Well, Steve had taken care of business but it was now our business to not only fight the dizzying smell but to work our way around it so we could get out of the pipes.  It turned out to be a very delicate procedure.  And as each of us came up from the pipes we were greeted by Steve laughing like a drunk man.  I thought he was going to get sick he was laughing so hard.  Steve liked to get one by on you and when he did there was no one who appreciated his pranks better than Steve.

Chapter 3