The Call Of The Open Road

 

By:  Kenda

 

 

********

 

     Cecilia Simon addressed the boys before her.  "I remember the first time Rick was arrested."

 

     Cricket's dark eyes grew round with shock.  "Rick was arrested?

 

     "Oh," Cecilia scoffed,  "they said he stole Old McDoogal's car and took it for a joyride, just because he had the reputation of getting in trouble."

 

     From where he sat on a bale of straw Rick hung his head and mumbled,  "Mom..."

 

     Cecilia continued as though her son hadn't spoken.  "And after an entire day at the police station, his father and I convinced them that Rick couldn't possibly have done it."

 

     "Mom..." Rick interrupted to confess,   "I did it."

 

     Over the laughter of the campers Cecilia stated firmly,  "That's not the point.  The point is we stuck together and had faith in each other no matter how bad things looked."

 

     Rick and A.J. exchanged thoughtful glances at their mother's words, and the long ago memory they evoked.*

 

*The above scene and conversation taken from the aired episode - Sunrise At Camp Apollo

 

 

 

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     "Hey, Rick!  Whattya' doin'?"

 

     Rick Simon turned his head from where he sat on the bumper of his mother's second-hand Chevy station wagon.  The chrome was warm beneath the seat of his blue jeans, and just wide enough to be a comfortable perch for a lanky fourteen-year-old boy.  And a comfortable perch for that boys’s almost nine-year-old brother.  Rick scooted over to make room for A.J.

 

     "Just watchin' Ole' Man McDoogal polish his Thunderbird."

 

     A.J. bit into the glossy red apple he held in his right hand, then passed it to Rick. 

 

     "Thanks," Rick said as he, too, took a bite of the crisp sweet fruit.

 

He handed the apple back to A.J., then returned his attention to the neighbor who was waxing his brand new car.  Unrestrained admiration shone from the teen's eyes.

 

     "That is one cool car.  Take a look at that baby, will ya', A.J.  And the color...that's the neatest color I've ever seen on a car."

 

     A.J. followed Rick's gaze to the driveway across the street. 

 

     Mr. McDoogal had brought the 1958 Ford Thunderbird home three weeks earlier.  And in that three week time span, he'd given the car more attention than a mother gives her newborn baby.  He washed it every day, waxed it once a week, and could often be seen running his hands over its gleaming surface as though it was a cherished lover.

 

     A.J. wrinkled his nose in answer to Rick's question.  "I don't think the color's so hot."

 

     Rick looked at his brother with disbelief.  "What's wrong with it?"

 

     "I don't know," A.J. shrugged his shoulders, "I just don't like it."

 

     Rick's gaze returned to the turquoise beauty.  "You're crazy, ya' know that?  That is the neatest color I've ever seen on a car.  Not like Mom's boring black station wagon, that's for sure."

 

     A.J. looked down at the car they were sitting on.  "Black's a good color for a car."

 

     "But not as good as turquoise.  And besides, McDoogal's car has white leather seats inside.  Real leather.  Not the fake stuff like our car has."

 

     "How do you know that?"  A.J. gnawed his way around the apple's core.  "Mr. McDoogal told you to stay away from his car."

 

     That was true.  Old Man McDoogal had chased Rick away from the automobile four times since bringing it home.  He wasn't exactly a friendly sort of man to begin with.  Things had been better when his wife was living. At least she made an effort to be neighborly.  But the woman had died two years earlier, leaving behind her seventy-two year old husband, and three grown sons who never came to visit the man.  Not that Rick could blame them.  Mr. McDoogal never spoke to anyone unless he was complaining about some minor problem in the neighborhood, or threatening someone with a lawsuit if he or she didn't stay off his property or away from his new car.

 

     In answer to A.J.'s question Rick answered succinctly.  "I just know."

 

     "You better stay away from that car, Rick," A.J. advised.  "Like Dad says, Mr. McDoogal's a crabby old coot.  He'll get you in trouble for sure."

 

     "Ah, I can handle the ole' goat.  Besides, I wasn't hurtin' nothin.’  I was just lookin’."

 

     "Yeah, but Mom and Dad told us to stay off his property and to stay away from him."

 

     "I know, I know.  Don't worry about it, little brother.  I can take care of myself."

 

     A.J. bowed to his brother's sensibilities.  "Okay."  He eyed the empty garbage can sitting at the end of the driveway Rick had yet to carry it to the garage as part of his summer-vacation chores.  The lid lay in the grass beside the can, where the garbage man had thrown it before the crack of dawn.   A.J. cocked his arm back with the intention of lobbing his apple core into the empty can.

 

     Mr. McDoogal straightened from where he was bent scrubbing the thick whitewalls of his tires.  "Don't you dare throw that in my yard, Andrew Simon, or I'll bend you over my knee and tan your hide for you!"

 

     A.J. dropped his arm to his side and scooted off the station wagon's bumper.  Before he could escape into the house Rick grabbed the browning core from him. 

 

     "He wasn't gonna throw it in your yard, you ole' coot!  He was gonna throw it in our garbage can!"

 

     "Rick..." A.J. hissed under his breath.  He followed his brother as Rick took three steps toward the curb - three steps that were countered by Mr. McDoogal.

 

     "I don't intend to put up with your smart mouth, Richard Simon!  If you were my boy my belt would be a permanent fixture on your backside!"

 

     "Well, I'm not your boy, you ole' fart!"

 

     "Rick!"  A.J. exclaimed his shock over what Rick had just called their neighbor.  "Rick, he'll tell Mom and Dad what you just said for sure."

 

     "Let him," Rick scoffed.  He turned to their neighbor and yelled,  "Let him tell Mom and Dad that I called him an old fart!  See what I care!  And now I'm gonna throw this apple core on his yard!"

 

     Rick darted across the quiet residential street.  He easily dodged the elderly Mr. McDoogal, who chased after him with an uneven gait.  Rick danced and jumped and twirled and laughed and shouted, as time and time again he pretended to throw the apple core onto the old man's lawn.  Mr. McDoogal shot from place to place in search of the offending piece of fruit like a pinball being ricocheted inside a machine.   A.J. ran up behind his brother and grabbed his shirt.

 

     "Come on, Rick!  Leave him alone!  Come on, let's go home!"

 

     Mr. McDoogal waved a thick fist in the air.  "You'll pay for this, Richard Simon!  You'll pay!  When I find that apple core I'm coming over to speak with your father!"

 

     Rick laughed and held the core up between thumb and forefinger.  "I don't know what you're talkin' about, you crazy ole' man.  I got the apple right here in my hand!"

 

     "Why you little..." Mr. McDoogal's fist pounded thin air with frustration.  "You tell your father I'm coming to see him, Mr. Smarty Pants!  When you can't sit down for the next week we'll see how funny you think tormenting an old man is."

 

     Mr. McDoogal turned on his heel and stomped off into his house.  Rick laughed as he walked back to his own yard and deposited the apple in the garbage can.  "Did you see him running around like a chicken with his head cut off lookin' for this stupid apple core?  Man, what an idiot."

 

     "You shouldn't have done that, Rick," A.J. stated with grave seriousness.  "You're gonna be in big trouble when Dad finds out."

 

     Rick waved a carefree hand.     "Nah. Dad can't stand Ole' McDoogal either.  I've heard him tell Mom that lots of times when he thinks we're sleeping."

 

     "But still, I don't think he'll like it when he finds out what you did today."

 

     Knowing how their father expected them to treat every adult with respect, regardless of the person's disposition, Rick knew A.J. was right.  He probably was going to be in trouble.  But Dad was at work right now, so why worry about it?  By the time Jack Simon did find out about the altercation, Rick was sure to have embellished his side of the story enough to keep himself out of major trouble.

 

     Rick put an arm around A.J.'s shoulders.   "You worry too much, kid, ya' know that?  I'll handle Dad when the time comes.  For now, let's go down to the park and see if anyone's started a game of football we can get in on."

 

     Despite the fact A.J. thought it would be in their best interest to go in the house and tell their mother about what had just happened, he allowed Rick to guide him in the direction of the park.   A half hour later the brothers were engrossed in a game of football with their friends, and the volatile encounter with their unpleasant neighbor was pushed to the back of their minds.

             

      

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     Rick saw his father through the glass of the kitchen door before his father saw him.  By his stance alone, and by the stance of Rick's mother, whom Jack Simon was talking to, Rick could tell his parents had been spoken to by Mr. McDoogal.

 

     The teen rubbed his palms over the thighs of his blue jeans and spared A.J. a brief glance of encouragement before opening the kitchen door.

 

     Jack crossed his arms over his chest.  "It's about time you two return to the scene of the crime."  He gave his sons a stern look.  "Take a seat at the table, both of you."

 

     Rick began to plead his case.  "Dad--"

 

     All Rick got for his effort was a firm,  "Now, Richard."  

 

     Rick and A.J. did as they were instructed.  Cecilia sat down beside them with her lips pursed tightly together.  Their father remained looming over them.

 

     "I think you two have some explaining to do regarding what occurred with Mr. McDoogal earlier this afternoon," Jack said.

 

     As much as Rick knew he should have prepared himself for this moment, and as much as he'd assured A.J. he had on their walk home from the park, the truth is he'd been negligent in doing so.  He'd counted on his father's own dislike of Mr. McDoogal to keep him out of trouble.  Hazarding a glance at Jack's face now, told Rick he'd greatly underestimated what his father's wrath would be upon hearing the news.

 

     "Richard," Jack prompted, "what happened between you boys and Mr. McDoogal?"

     Rick's mind cast about for a viable explanation for his behavior toward the elderly gentleman.   When his words came they sounded gravely sincere, even to his own ears. 

 

"He was gonna hit A.J., Dad."

 

     "He was going to what?"

 

     "He was gonna hit A.J.  See, me and A.J. were sittin' on the bumper of Mom's car just mindin' our own business and watchin' Ole' Ma...watchin' Mr. McDoogal polish his new Thunderbird.  A.J. was eatin' an apple, and when he was done he pitched his arm back to throw it in our garbage can.  That's when Mr. McDoogal went nuts and started runnin' toward A.J. with his fists in the air and threatening to hit him."

 

     Jack turned to his youngest son.  "Andy, is that true?  Was Mr. McDoogal going to hit you?"

 

     A.J., whose morals in regards to lying to his parents were considerably higher than Rick's, thought a long moment before replying.  That wasn't exactly how the events unfolded, but then again, Mr. McDoogal had threatened to tan his hide, hadn't he?  Therefore, A.J. supposed Rick's story was accurate enough to go along with.  

 

     Knowing how sensitive his youngest could be at times, Jack took A.J.'s silence as a reflection of how upset he was over the event.   He sat down at the table next to the boy and laid a gentle hand on his arm.  "Was Mr. McDoogal going to hit you, Andy?"

     Rick loved his little brother right at that moment for those big, innocent clear blue eyes, and that cherubic face of an angel that no parent could believe would ever tell a lie, or even a half-truth.  "Yes, Dad, he was," A.J. declared with heartfelt conviction.  "He said he was going to hit me, and he...he came after me like Rick said."

 

     "But were you going to throw your apple core in his yard?"  Cecilia asked.

 

     A.J. gave his head an emphatic negative shake.  At least about this he could tell the honest truth.  "No, I wasn't.  I was going to throw it in our garbage can just like Rick said.  I don't know why Mr. McDoogal thought I was going to throw it in his yard.  It's just like Rick told you.  We were sitting on our car, in our own driveway, minding our own business.  We weren't talking to Mr. McDoogal, or bothering him at all, just like you

said we aren't supposed to."

 

     Jack turned to Rick.  "But did you call him names, Rick?  Did you call Mr. McDoogal an old fart?"

 

     Rick hung his head as though in great shame.  "Yeah, I did."

 

     "Rick..." Cecilia's tone spoke her disappointment.

 

     Rick's head shot up.  "I'm sorry, Mom.  I really am.  But he made me mad.  Me and A.J. weren't botherin' him at all.  He had no reason to threaten A.J. like that."

 

     "No, he didn't."  Jack loosened his tie and undid the first two buttons on the collar of his dress shirt.  "But nonetheless, calling an adult names is wrong.  I commend you for protecting your brother, Rick.  That was the right thing to do.  But you should have walked away from the situation rather than enticing Mr. McDoogal further.  He also claims you came over onto his lawn and pretended to throw the apple core on it and then continuously teased him about it.  Is that true?"

 

     Rick's mind wavered back and forth with his answer.  Yes, he had pretended to throw the apple core on Old Man McDoogal's lawn, but technically he had never stepped foot in the guy's yard.  He took a deep internal breath, not quite sure as to where this lie would lead him.  It depended on how much of Mr. McDoogal's story Jack Simon believed.

 

     "No, I didn't do that.  I didn't go near his yard."

 

     Jack's eyes met those of his oldest son's.  When he was satisfied that Rick was telling him the truth, he nodded his head.  "All right."  Jack leaned back in his chair and took in both his sons.  "Once again your mother and I want to remind you boys to stay away from Mr. McDoogal."

 

     "But Dad," Rick protested,  "we didn't go near him.  We were mindin' our own--"

 

     Jack held up a hand in a gesture of silence.  "I realize that, Rick.  I'm simply reminding you to stay away from him.  The man is nasty and causes trouble."

 

     "Jack," Cecilia admonished at what she didn't think Jack should say in front of their sons about their neighbor.

 

     "For heaven's sake, Cece, I can't sit across the table from the boys and say McDoogal's a nice guy, because he's not."  Jack's attention returned to his sons.  "Nonetheless, he is our neighbor, and we need to make an effort to get along with him.  I don't want you boys going near him except for tomorrow morning."

 

     "Tomorrow morning?"  Rick questioned.

 

     "Yes, tomorrow morning.  You'll go over there tomorrow morning, Rick, and apologize to him for calling him an old fart."

 

     "Dad!"

 

     "You'll do it, Richard, or you'll be grounded for a week."

 

     Rick gave a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes.   Summer vacation had just started.  He had no intention of spending part of it grounded.

 

     "All right, all right.  I'll do it."

     "Good.   Now you boys go wash up, then come down and set the table for dinner."

 

     Rick knew he was getting off easy, so didn't protest either directive.  He stood and made a hasty retreat from the room, a relieved A.J. at his heels.       

 

     When their footsteps could be heard on the stairs Cecilia said to her husband, "Do you think Rick's telling us the whole story, Jack?"

 

     "I think so.  Besides, Andy confirms it."

 

     Cecilia chuckled.  "If you haven't figured it out by now, dear, A.J. will lie to protect his brother."

 

     "I know, but I just have a feeling they're telling us the truth."

 

     Cecilia arched a skeptical eyebrow.  "You have a feeling?  Or you're willing to let the incident drop here because of your strong dislike for Mr. McDoogal?"

 

     The fair skinned Jack blushed at how easily his wife could read his thoughts.  "I have a feeling," he stated with mock indignation.  "Besides, Rick needs to know we take his word to heart.  There's been too many times when people are quick to pin the blame on him for some incident or another just because he has a bit of a...reputation."

 

     Cecilia chuckled again as she rose from her seat.  She ran a hand through her husband's thick blond hair and bent to kiss his forehead.  "And I just wonder who he inherits that reputation from?"

 

     Jack's eyes were as blue and innocent as A.J.'s.  "I have no idea, sweetheart.  I have no idea."

 

     The couple laughed together as Jack pulled his tiny wife into his lap.  By the time the boys returned to the kitchen their parents were working to put the final touches on dinner, and the subject of Mr. McDoogal had been laid to rest.

    

 

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     Rick presented himself on Mr. McDoogal's doorstep the following morning as ordered by his father.  Although A.J. hadn't been told he had to apologize to the man, he tagged along after his brother to offer moral support.

 

     Rick rang the doorbell and eyed the gleaming Thunderbird while he waited.   The keys hung in the ignition as though inviting any admirers to take her for a spin around the block.

 

     "Oh, it's you," the elderly man growled when he opened the door.  "Whatta you want?"

     Rick smiled politely.  "I came to apologize for calling you an old fart yesterday."    

 

Even though I think you really are one. 

 

     A crooked, thick-knuckled finger was shaken under Rick's nose.  "I hope your daddy took his belt to your behind last night."

 

     As much as Rick wanted to gloat and tell the man that no, his father hadn't spanked him, and that in fact, his father thought McDoogal was an old fart, too, Rick refrained from such a gesture.  He knew it would only cause him further trouble, and feared it would prompt Mr. McDoogal into having another discussion with his dad.  It might be more difficult for Rick to convince his father of his innocence in the matter if Ole' McDoogal came calling on Jack again. 

 

     With great drama Rick rubbed his hands over his rear end and produced a teary,  "Yes, sir, he did."

 

     Mr. McDoogal's smile revealed his loose dentures.  "I'm glad to hear it.  If you'd been my boy you'd have felt my razor strap on you bare backside until you were crying out for mercy."

 

     That's probably why your kids don't come see you, you ole' goat.

 

     Mr. McDoogal turned his attention to A.J.  "And I hope you felt your daddy's belt, too, you little rapscallion."

 

     A.J. swallowed hard and stepped sideways, half hiding behind Rick's body. 

 

     Rick wrapped a protective arm around his little brother's body.  "Leave A.J. alone.  He didn't do anything wrong.  And no, our dad didn't spank him."

 

     "Well, he should have," Mr. McDoogal spat.  "That's the problem with you kids now days.  No discipline whatsoever.  Your parents let you run wild, the schools let you run wild...why in my day it was different.  In my day a boy wasn't allowed to--"

 

     "We gotta go, Mr. McDoogal," Rick cut the old man off.  "We got chores to do."

 

     Mr. McDoogal waved a hand in dismissal.  "Go on with you then.  Get outta here."  To the hastily departing brothers he called,  "And don't come back!"

 

     "Don't worry about it," Rick muttered under his breath, "we won't."

 

     When the brothers had crossed back into their own yard A.J. breathed a sigh of relief.  "I'm glad that's over with."

 

     "You didn't have to come with me. Dad only said I had to apologize."

 

     A.J. shrugged.  "I know.  But I didn't mind."  He added quickly, "Or at least not too much."  The eight-year-old looked up at his brother with a sly smile.  "Besides, I figured if you went alone, you'd only get yourself in more trouble."

 

     Rick laughed as he reached out and hooked an arm around his brother's neck.  He gently rubbed his knuckles across A.J.'s scalp in an Indian burn.  "Why you little twerp you.  I oughta let you have it for that remark."

 

     A.J. wiggled free of Rick's hold and took off running with a shout.  Rick ran after him and tackled him in the back yard. 

 

     Cecilia Simon shook her head with fondness as she looked out the patio doors and watched her boys playfully wrestle.  She had observed them walking across the street to Mr. McDoogal's house a few minutes earlier and had watched as Rick apologized.  She was glad that deed was done, and hoped the remainder of the summer would be uneventful in regards to their crotchety neighbor.  She had to admit Jack was right.  The man was nasty and seemed to thrive on causing trouble.     She hoped Rick had learned his lesson, and was now smart enough to stay out of Mr. McDoogal's way.

    

 

 

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     A week later, on a Friday evening, Jack and Cecilia were getting dressed to go out to dinner and then on to a play.  It wasn't often the couple enjoyed an evening out without their children, but once every month or so Jack insisted he and his wife go on a 'date' minus the boys.  Jack felt it was good for them as couple to spend some uninterrupted time together, and good for the boys, as well.  Now that Rick was old enough to be in charge of the household for a few hours, Jack had noticed a dramatic improvement in his levels of maturity and responsibility.

 

     Cecilia came downstairs with purse in hand and clutching a string of pearls around her neck.  She turned when she reached her husband.  "Would you fasten these for me?"

 

     Jack latched his wife's necklace as she gave last minute instructions to the sons who were sitting on the couch watching television.  "Keep the doors locked and don't open them for anyone, regardless of who it is.  If anyone calls, take a message and tell them Daddy and I will be back soon.  I left the name and number of the restaurant and the theatre by the phone in case you need us.  Otherwise, we should be home around midnight.   You boys can wait up for us if you want to, but I expect both of you to be showered and in your pajamas by then."

 

     "Okay, Mom," both young men dutifully replied to the drill they had long ago memorized. 

 

     "And I left money on the dining room table for the pizza I just ordered for you.  It should be here in half an hour.  And this time, Richard, don't pocket the change.  That's intended to be the delivery boy's tip."

 

     "I know, Mom.  I know," Rick acknowledged as his mother bent to kiss his cheek.  "You've told me that about a million times."

 

     As she kissed A.J.'s cheek she ordered Rick,  "Just make sure you give it to him."

 

     "I will."

 

     Jack gathered up his wife and headed for the door.  "Behave yourselves, boys.  Do as Rick says, Andy."

 

     "I will, Dad."

 

     "Bye."

 

     As one the boys chorused,   "Bye, Mom!  Bye, Dad!" 

 

     The door was shut and locked firmly behind the departing parents.  The brothers remained on the sofa engrossed in their TV show until the doorbell rang forty minutes later and a loud voice announced,  "Pizza delivery!"

 

     Rick shot off the couch and paid the young man, including his tip, and accepted the warm box in return.  He walked it into the kitchen where he and A.J. piled paper plates full of pizza, grabbed a handful of napkins, and retrieved two cold bottles of Coke from the refrigerator.  They returned to the living room with their food.  Half the fun of Mom and Dad being gone was being able to do things that normally weren't allowed.  Like eating in Cecilia's formal living room.

 

     "Just don't spill anything, A.J.," Rick cautioned.  "I don't wanna have to be scrubbin' at the carpeting ten minutes before Mom comes home like I did last time they were gone and we ate in here."

 

     "I won't," A.J. promised.  "And besides, it was you who spilled the last time we ate in here.  I never spill."

 

     Rick spoke around a mouthful of pizza.  "Ya' know somethin', kid?  You gotta memory like a dang elephant."

 

     Around his own mouthful of pizza, A.J. laughed at the teasing.

 

     Two hours later grease stained paper plates, crumpled napkins, and empty soda bottles littered the living room.   Rick flipped through the television channels one last time before pushing in the knob that shut off the black and white Zenith.

 

     "I guess there's nothin' much on," he said to A.J. 

 

     "That's okay.  We need to clean up this mess anyway."

 

     Rick surveyed the room and was forced to agree with his brother.  Working together, it didn't take the boys long to return their mother's living room to its proper order.  While A.J. threw the paper plates and napkins away, Rick deposited the soda bottles in their returnable case in the pantry.  He wrapped the remaining pieces of pizza in foil and put them in the refrigerator, while A.J. disposed of the empty box out in one of the garbage cans by the side of the garage.            

 

     When they were done, Rick leaned back against the kitchen sink and looked up at the wall clock to see it was nine forty-five.   "Whatta ya' wanna do now?"  

 

     "I dunno know.   I guess I should take my shower and put on my pajamas like Mom said.  Then you'd better do the same."

 

     Rick rolled his eyes.  "A.J., loosen up, will ya'?  It's only quarter to ten.  The night is young yet, and Mom and Dad won't be home for at least a couple of hours."

 

     A.J. shrugged.  "So?"

 

     "So, let's do something."

 

     "Like what?"

 

     "I don't know.  Something fun."

 

     "We could play a game."

 

     Rick wrinkled his nose with disdain.  "Kid stuff."

 

     A.J. thought a little harder in order to offer a suggestion worthy of his big brother.  "Well then...you could help me put my new model car together.  It's a Corvette."

 

     "Nah," Rick shook his head,  "I don't feel like doin' that."

 

     "How about if we go down to the basement and shoot some pool?"

 

     "Me and Carlos did that earlier this afternoon."

 

     "Okay, then about goin' through our baseball cards?  We could make some trades."

 

     "Nah.  I'm gettin' too old to be messin' around with baseball cards.  Besides, I'm gonna give you all mine anyway."

 

     A.J.'s eyes sparkled with excitement.  "Really?  You're really gonna give me yours, Rick?"

     "Sure, kid.  You can have 'em all.  Every single one of 'em."  Rick turned to look out the kitchen window.  "Remind me about it this weekend and I'll get the box they're in off my closet shelf for you." 

 

     "Thanks, Rick."

 

     "No problem, short stuff," the preoccupied teen replied as he stared across the street.  "Ole McDoogal's back from wherever it is he went earlier."

 

     A.J. came to stand by his brother.  He pushed himself up on his tiptoes and looked out the window at the darkness blanketing the neighborhood.  "How do you know?"

 

     "His Thunderbird's in the driveway.  I wonder if he leaves the keys in it all the time."

 

     "Beats me.  Why?"

 

     Rick looked down at his little brother and smiled.  "Cause I was just thinkin' that it might be fun to take 'er for a spin."

 

     A.J.'s short laugh came out in the form of a mocking snort.  "Yeah, right, Rick.   Dream on.   Like Mr. McDoogal's ever gonna take you for a ride in that car."

 

     "I didn't say McDoogal was gonna take me, now did I?"

 

     A.J. didn't like the mischievous glint he saw in Rick's eye.  A mischievous glint that was very familiar to the young blond, and generally meant whatever Rick was thinking of doing was only going to land them both in hot water with their parents.

 

     A.J. started shaking his head.  "Rick...I don't think--"

 

     "What?"  Rick voiced his disgust.  "You don't think what?  You don't even know what I was gonna say."

 

     "Whatever it is, I'm not gonna like it."

 

     "Sure you are."  Rick wrapped a solicitous arm around A.J.'s thin shoulders.  "It'll be fun.  You and I are goin' for a ride in a Thunderbird, A.J."

 

     "Oh no," A.J. shook his head with more force as he backed away from his brother.   "No, we're not.  Or at least I'm not."

 

     "Oh, come on, A.J.  Have some fun once in a while, will ya'?"  The teen waved an arm toward the window.  "It's pitch black outside, and Ole' Man McDoogal's house is dark, too.  Everyone knows he goes to bed at nine.  By ten he'll be sound asleep and never know the car is missing.  We'll just go for a little drive.  Just around the block a few times.  We'll have it back by eleven.  I promise."

 

     "He'll hear it start up," the ever-practical A.J. was quick to point out.

 

     "No, he won't.  His driveway's on enough of an incline that all I'll have to do is put it in neutral and push in the clutch.  It'll roll right out into the street.  And even if he does hear it start up, he'll just think it's some neighbor startin' his own car to go somewhere.  Besides, I've heard that baby's engine run and she purrs just like a kitten.  There's no way an old guy like McDoogal is ever gonna hear her come to life."

 

     "But you don't even know how to drive."

 

     "Yes, I do.  Don't tell Mom and Dad this, but Uncle Ray taught me when he was here this winter.  Every time him and me went some place alone he let me drive."

 

     A.J. was impressed.  "Really?"

 

     "Yep, really.  Once you get the hang of the clutch there's nothin' to it.  Just give 'er a little gas, steer, and take the turns nice and easy."

 

     Despite how simple Rick made it all sound, the youngest Simon brother remained dubious.  "I don't know, Rick.   I don't think we should."

 

     "Well, I don't care what you think.  I'm gonna do it.  You can come with me if you want to, or you can stay here, in the house, all by yourself if you want to.  Take your choice."

 

     A.J.'s eyes roamed the interior of the kitchen.  At eight years old he had yet to be left home alone without one of his parents or Rick present.  Had it been daylight, he would have simply shrugged his shoulders and told Rick to go without him.  But it wasn't daylight, and their house was big - four stories if one included the basement and attic - and made all kinds of scary noises after dark that only an eight-year-old boy seemed to hear.  

 

     "Rick...please..."

 

     Rick walked toward the kitchen door.  "I'll lock the door when I leave.  You'll be fine.  I'll knock three times when I wanna come back in, that way you'll know it's me."

 

     A.J. gave the interior of the vast house one last look, then scampered out the door behind his big brother.  Rick smiled into the night as though he'd known along what A.J.'s choice would be. 

 

"I see ya' decided to join me."

 

     "Yeah, but just for one ride," A.J. reminded.  "Just once around the block and then we come back home.  Promise?"

 

     "Sure, kid, I promise.   Now come on, crouch down low and follow my lead.  Don't do anything I don't do.  And for heaven's sake, don't slam the car door when you get in."

 

     A.J. nodded and copied his brother's posture.  He bent low at the waist and ran after Rick until they came to a clump of bushes that grew by the corner of their driveway.  Rick used the foliage for cover as he cautiously peered out at the street.  All was quiet, and he couldn't detect any automobile headlights from either the right or the left.  With a wave of his hand he whispered, "Come on."

 

     The boys ran across the street, their tennis shoes making no sound against the pavement.  Rick crouched down behind the big Thunderbird, A.J. following suit.  Rick motioned for his brother to go around and enter on the passenger side.  He put a finger to his lips, reminding the boy of the need for silence. 

 

     A.J. kept one eye on Mr. McDoogal's house, which remained dark and silent, and the other on the street.  The last thing he wanted was for a passing neighbor to see him and Rick getting in the old man's car.

 

     Just like Rick had cautioned, A.J. entered the vehicle without a sound.  He barely opened the passenger side door before he was slinking through the narrow space like a slithering snake.   He remained hunkered down in the front seat, not wanting his head to be visible to any passers-by.

 

     Rick entered the car in the same fashion A.J. had with one exception.  As soon as he opened the door, he pressed a finger against the little silver button in the car's frame so the dome light wouldn’t come on.  Like a loose-jointed contortionist, Rick shimmied into the vehicle, all the while keeping his finger in place until his body was on the driver's seat and he was able to ease the door closed.   A.J. was greatly impressed by his big brother's fortitude and was beginning to forget his fears, to instead get caught up in the excitement of this latest adventure.

 

     Just like Rick was hoping, the Thunderbird's keys hung in her ignition.  The teen paused a moment and sniffed the air with his eyes closed, a dreamy expression lighting his face.  "Smell that, A.J.   There's no greater smell in the world than the smell of a new car." 

 

     All was quiet in Mr. McDoogal's house when Rick pressed the clutch in.  He moved the on-the-column gearshift to neutral and smiled across the seat at A.J.  "Hang on, little brother.  Here we go."