CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

To err is human, to forgive, canine.

Anon

You think dogs will not be in heaven?

I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.

Robert Louis Stevenson

READY TO SHOOT THE “BOY / DOG” SEQUENCE

CAMERA THREE, A CLOSE-UP ON LEE’S STRAINING MUSCLES

CAMERA FOUR, LOTS OF LOW-TO-THE-GROUND CAMERA WORK

FOR A DOG’S-EYE VIEW OF THE WORLD READY? AND … ROLL

Lee’s words echoed in Santiago’s head—bring Mom back, bring Mom back. She stopped just long enough to smell something interesting near the side of the road—big mistake. Cat pee. Very nasty. Santiago trotted on—bring Mom back, bring Mom back— she caught sight of the offending cat up a tree, but didn’t bother to stop and bark; she had more important things to do—bring Mom back, bring Mom back …

AND … CUT TO BOY

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit, and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?

– Albert Einstein

An hour had passed now, and Lee’s back and arms were starting to cramp. Rhonda had stopped crying, but Lee worried about her silence.

“Talk to me, Ron,” he said. “Is the pain really bad?”

“I don’t feel like yakkin’,” she said. “I’m tired. I just want to go to slee …” He could hear her voice trailing off into dreamland. Dreamland?!

“Rhonda!” he shouted. “Don’t go to sleep!”

“Cheez … don’t have a hairy fit,” she grumbled. “I’ll keep you company when I wake up.”

“You don’t get it,” said Lee. “You’ve got a concussion! You’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion!”

“Just for a few minutes, Lee …”

“No, Rhonda!”

“My name’s not Rhonda,” she hissed. Lee scrunched his eyes and shook his head. What was that he was thinking a while back? Something about liking Rhonda exactly the way she was? Must have been a brain fart.

“Rhonda … I mean, Ron. You can slip into a coma if you fall asleep with a concussion. Haven’t you ever watched Rescue Rangers?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she said irritably. “Keep me awake, then. Tell me about something. Ouch!”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“How the heck am I supposed to know? I’m the one with the concussion, ’member?”

Lee sighed. He wracked his brain for something to talk about. He wasn’t a great conversationalist at the best of times, but with Rhonda, of all people?

“Did you know that Albert Einstein played the violin?” he said, finally.

“Yeah?” Lee thought he detected a spark of interest in Rhonda’s voice.

“Yeah. He said that if he wasn’t a physicist, he would have liked to be a musician.”

“You making that up?”

“Nope.” Lee shifted his back to stop the rope from cutting into his shoulder. As he did, the rope scraped the rim of the well and sent a rock down on Rhonda.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry,” said Lee. Then: “Ron, why didn’t you ever tell me you play the violin?”

“Shut up,” she said. “Tell me something else.”

“What?”

“How the heck am I supposed to know? I’m the one with the concuss—”

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Lee, and he tried to pick his brain for something else that might interest her, but it was as if they spoke a different language half the time.

“Parlay-vous Frances?” he asked.

“Huh?”

CUT TO MUTT

Did you ever walk into a room and forget why you walked in?

I think that is how dogs spend their lives.

– Sue Murphy

Santiago dropped Lee’s baseball cap on the ground in order to snap up a Chicken Gui Ku ball on the ground outside of the Wong Numba Café. Ten minutes later, a kid with nothing better to do than pop wheelies in the parking lot got off his bike, picked up the cap, and popped it on his head. By then Santiago was a block away, trying to remember what it was she was supposed to tell Mom …

AND BACK TO BOY …

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

– Robert Frost

Three hours now, and Lee was beginning to wonder if this day would ever end. His butt was sound asleep and snoring, even if Rhonda wasn’t. And a numb bum was the least of his worries. The rope was still cutting a rut into his aching shoulder and cramping his hand. And even that wasn’t the worst of it. He was running out of topics to entertain Rhonda. Lee was grateful when she came up with a question of her own.

“Why’d you give Santiago that stupid name, anyway?”

“I told you, my dad named her after the old man in The Old Man and the Sea.”

“So what was so great about this guy that he had to go naming your girl dog after him?”

Lee thought about it. “Do you know the story?” he asked. “As if. You think I go around reading Hemingway? Ouch! My leg!!” Lee grimaced with Rhonda’s pain. He knew she needed distracting.

“It’s about an old man,” he began.

“Duh, no kidding,” said Rhonda.

Lee ignored her. “He’s an old fisherman in Cuba who’s gone eighty-four days in a row without catching a single fish. And he lives in a shack, and his wife is dead, and he uses newspaper to cover the bedsprings because he doesn’t have money for a mattress.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear this story,” said Rhonda.

“And here’s the kicker, Ron; he’s got just about nothing, but he’s happy. And hopeful. Every day he goes out in his boat and thinks, today’s the day I’m gonna catch a fish.”

“And does he?” asked Rhonda.

“Eighty-fifth day,” said Lee, “he goes out in his small boat and sails way out past all the other fishermen. And he catches him a fish.”

“The end,” interrupted Rhonda.

“Nope. This is no ordinary fish story, Ron. The thing weighs fifteen hundred pounds, and it’s longer than his boat. It’s the biggest darn thing he’s ever laid eyes on.”

“And he brings the fish home,” said Rhonda, “and he sells it for a million bucks, and buys a king-size bed and lives happily ever after. The end.”

“Who’s telling this story?” said Lee, starting to get irritated. “Now, have a little patience Rhonda, and I’ll tell you what—”

“My name’s not Rhonda.”

Lee squeezed his eyes shut again and counted to ten. He wondered if Santiago had made it home yet.

CUT TO DOG

Santiago relied on her nose to play the “hot and cold game” to get her home. She didn’t recognize the street she was on— Lee had never brought her this way before—but her nose told her which way to go. “Cold,” it whispered whenever she took a wrong turn, and “Hot” when she started trotting in the right direction. Santiago stopped to pee by the base of a tree—so many trees, so little time—and turned down a street that made her nose icy. She turned left at the next intersection and knew she was hot on the trail again.

Even though she couldn’t recall exactly why, Santiago felt particularly happy this afternoon as she trotted down the boulevard—except for one thing: There was something niggling at the back of her mind like an annoying flea—a little voice telling her she’d forgotten something. Was she supposed to tell Mom something? But the next tree called out to Santiago to leave her mark behind, and as she whizzed, the annoying flea jumped straight out of her mind.

AND BACK TO LEE

ROLL 'EM

“You see, Ron,” said Lee, “the fish was so huge and powerful that once it got caught on the end of the old man’s rope, it started dragging the boat out to sea instead of the old man dragging it back to shore. There’s just no way he could pull the fish in. But the old guy hung onto that rope with all his might, and refused to let go.”

Without letting go, Lee flexed the stiff fingers of his hands, one at a time. “So anyway …” Lee stopped. “You still awake, Ron?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to sound bored, but Lee knew he had her hooked.

“For four whole days,” continued Lee, “the old guy had a tug-of-war with that fish. It was like some kind of crazy marathon. He had to eat raw tuna to stay strong, and his hands were a bloody mush from hanging onto the rope for so long, and every muscle in his body ached.”

“Didn’t he ever hear the saying: ‘Enough’s enough’?”

Lee ignored her again. “And you wanna know the weirdest part?”—he didn’t give her a chance to answer—“The weirdest part is that as much as he wanted to kill that fish, he loved it as well. He loved it like a brother. And he loved the moon and stars like brothers, even though the nights were long and painful.”

Rhonda made fake gagging sounds at the bottom of the well. “‘The moon and the stars were his brothers.’ Lee, I think you’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

Lee smiled to himself. “Could be, Ron; could well be.”

“Lee,” he heard her say a moment later, “do you think Santiago is on her way back yet? Do you think she understood?”

CUT TO DOG

Some days you’re the dog, some days you’re the hydrant.

– Anon

Santiago understood perfectly well that squirrels were way too fast to even think about chasing, but they were such irritating little wackos. Always bragging, always teasing—Hey, dog-chow breath, better watch out or you’ll trip on your tongue!—that’s why Santi just had to stop and give that bushy-tailed pest, chittering away on the fence, a good old-fashioned scare. She was fast enough to at least do that. But before Santi had even finished thinking it, the squirrel had hightailed it to the top of a tall tree and sat laughing down at her.

Yesterday I was a dog. Today I’m a dog. Tomorrow I’ll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There’s so little hope for advancement.

– Snoopy

That’s the secret to life … replace one worry with another …
– Charlie Brown

Lee’s hands hurt so bad, it almost made him forget that anything else in the world existed. Including Rhonda (whenever she’d rest her trap for more than a minute straight—jeez, was it really me who told her not to go to sleep?).

“How’d you get that stupid name, anyhow?”

Lee bristled. “Shadup! Lee is a perfectly …”

“Not that name,” said Rhonda. “I’m talking about the stupid one: McGillicuddy. Stupid!”

Lee gave a weary shake of the head. “And I suppose you chose Ronaldson as your last name?”

Lee imagined Rhonda giving her nose an upward swipe— buying herself just enough time to figure a composed response. “No, dopey,” she spat, “but if I could choose, I sure as HECK wouldn’t have chosen old fuddy duddy McGillicuddy.”

“I’ll have you know,” said Lee, “that there’s no other name I’d rather have. Did you know that the late, great Connie Mack had the very same last name? Well … before the name-change, that is.”

“NOW, THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!” Rhonda chucked a loose stone at the side of the well. “I’d change my name to Mack too if I had to suffer McGillicuddy! Takes a girl to be able to figure something like that out.”

“Sorry, toe-brain,” sang Lee, “but Connie is a man’s name. Not only was he a super-duper professional baseball player, but he was also a legendary major league manager who—”

Lee scowled at the “PPFFFT!” sound that seemed to echo to him from the well. “Baseball, shmaseba—”

Lee cut in. “AND … he held the unbeaten RECORD for most wins …” Suddenly he saw the hopelessness of communicating anything of importance to Rhonda Ronaldson, and gave up. Unfortunately, Lee was able to imagine all too well her Huge-Hairy-Deal smirk. He imagined her eyeballs stuck to the ceiling of her lids right about now.

“So what happened to the old guy, anyways?” asked Rhonda.

“Connie Mack?” said Lee.

“As if!” said Rhonda. “I’m talking about the old dude and the fish. Did he have some kind of miracle happen to him or somethin’? That’s gonna bug my butt royally, if he had a miracle. I hate it in books when … are you listening to me, Daddy?”

Lee hadn’t been listening. He was too busy worrying about the cramp in his right hand. He needed so badly to let go of the rope, even for just a second, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Daddy?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. What do you want?”

“I said, what happened to the old fart, ’cause, like, if you’re going to tell me he—”

“You wouldn’t want to know, Ron,” said Lee.

“Hey, come on, you can’t just—”

“Trust me,” he said. “You just wouldn’t want to know what happened next.”

“Well, I’m not going to beg you, if that’s what you think.” He could tell she was ticked.

Lee let ten minutes go by before asking her if she was still awake. She didn’t answer, but soon he could hear her chucking pebbles at the side of the well. He wondered what was going through her mind. It was a while before she spoke.

“It’s because I’m not ready, if you must know,” said Rhonda.

“Huh?” Rhonda was constantly coming up with weird things out of the blue, and expecting him to follow.

“You asked why I keep my violin a secret,” she said. “It’s because I’m not ready, and tough beans to anyone who doesn’t like it. I don’t want anyone getting the stupid idea that they know me till I’m ready to be known.”

“Okay,” said Lee.

But Rhonda had more to say.

“Like, imagine you were trying to write the most fantastic story in the world, and for months you put your whole heart and soul into it. And you wrote and rewrote the darned thing, and even though you were far from being finished, you could tell it was getting better and better. And then, imagine that some pea-brain idiot came along one day and stole one of your old, crappy, rough copies from the trash can and read it. Wouldn’t you just want to tear their eyeballs out?”

Lee was getting the distinct feeling that either Rhonda, or girls in general, had a different way of thinking about things.

“The point is,” said Rhonda, “I’m pretty much a rough copy right now, and I don’t want anyone trying to read me. Till I’m ready. Do you get my drift?”

Silence. He could hear her sigh.

“Man,” said Lee, “all I know is that all my life, all I’ve ever wanted was to be half as good at anything as you are at the violin. If I had one-tenth of your talent, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.”

“You’re nuts, Lee.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, you really think you’re not good at anything?”

Silence for a count of ten. Lee finally spoke up. “I’ve gotta tell you something, Ron. ’Member I was telling you about Connie Mack?”

Rhonda went for the bait. “Who’s she?”

Lee groaned.

“I know, I know,” shot Rhonda, “the baseball nerd. What about him?”

Lee let out a long sigh. “You know I said he held the record for most games won in a lifetime?”

She didn’t answer.

“What I didn’t tell you,” choked Lee, “is that he also held the record for the most losses.”

“Wha …?”

“He just stayed with baseball way longer than any other manager. He may have had a lotta wins, but he had even more losses.” Lee closed his eyes. “Guess I was right after all, Ron. I deserve the stupid name.”

“Boo hoo.” Lee could hear her trying unsuccessfully to chuck a pebble out of the well. “What you’re forgetting to remember is that you’ve got as much piss ’n’ vinegar and bull-headed patience inside you as that old dude and his big dumb fish— heck, as stubborn Connie Mack, for that matter. You don’t think that’s worth something?” she said.

Lee thought for a while, and then he said: “Do you get good marks in school, Ron?”

“Could if I wanted to,” she said.

I’ll bet you could, thought Lee. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that, Ron?”

“Cryin’ out loud,” said Rhonda, “I am what I am. Now shut the heck up, and tell me the rest of that dumb story.”

I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam.

– Popeye the Sailorman

BRING IN SLANG FOR A SHORT SCENE

QUIET ON THE SET … AND ROLL!

Slang Kischuk raised his sunglasses over his eyebrows, reached over the back seat of his car, and raked around in the mess of books and garbage until he found what he was looking for—a brand new Eagles team soccer shirt with a bold McGillicuddy written on the back, and a number one on front. He looked it over, smoothed a few wrinkles with his hand, and smiled. He got out of his car and then jumped back in and took something from the glove compartment. He tossed the object up in the air and whistled as he walked up Lee’s front walk. Then he took the steps three at a time and rang the doorbell. He heard Gertrude’s voice through the screen door. “Door’s open, partner, come on in!”

Slang opened the screen door and stepped inside. He saw Gertrude wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, cutoff shorts and cowboy boots, and a tool belt around her waist. She was squatting in front of the television’s panel box with a screwdriver in her hand. She looked up. “Oh!” she slipped her screwdriver into the loop on her tool belt like a cowboy returning a gun to its holster. “Name’s Slang, isn’t it?” she said. “Just trying to repair the idiot box, here, Slang. Should be easy enough. Little bit of common sense is all you mostly need. Come on in! Take a load off! Know anything about these fool machines?”

Slang smiled and sat down on the couch. He gave an admiring whistle. “Beauty of a cowboy hat,” he said.

“Thanks for noticing,” said Gertrude. “It’s the real McCoy. Genuine Stetson. Get you a cold drink?”

“No, thanks, Mrs. McGillicuddy,” said Slang. “I just came by to give Lee this.” He held up the T-shirt. “Genuine Eagles T-shirt for the kid. The real McCoy. Is he around?”

“Well, isn’t that kind of you,” said Gertrude. “But no, the kid’s not around. I keep telling him to leave a note when he goes out, but he can’t seem to get in the habit. Haven’t a clue where he is, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, maybe you could give this to him when he gets home,” said Slang, handing over the T-shirt. “Oh, and this, too.” He tossed Gertrude a Mars Bar. “Just something I owe him,” he said with a wink. “He’ll know what it’s about.”

“Sure thing,” said Gertrude, opening the front door for Slang. “But are you sure you can trust me with this?” she said, waving the chocolate bar in the air.

Slang laughed. “Do your best,” he said.

I always do my best, sonny boy, thought Gertrude. Don’t you worry about that!

“Slang!” she called just before he ducked into his car. “Thanks for being so kind to Lee. You’re a gem!”

Slang smiled and gave Gertrude a wave before driving off.

Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind.

The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.

– Henry James

There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.

– Dalai Lama

AND … CUT TO DOG

Santiago’s nose was burning now. Hot, hot, hot, it told her, as she turned onto her own street. Only thing is, that flea was back in her mind again, pestering her with the same old question— “What the heck were you supposed to tell Mom?” And then a clear picture of Lee sprang into her mind, and she could taste his sweet / salty freckles like she’d just licked him a second ago. She came bounding into the yard as Gertrude stood waving goodbye to Slang, and as she galloped toward Gertrude, Santiago remembered exactly what she’d come all this way to tell her. “Woof, woof!” Santiago barked— “Lee loves me again, Mom. He loves me!” Then she went straight to her food bowl, inhaled what was there, and curled up on Lee’s bed and went to sleep.

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?

– A. A. Milne

“You can’t win ’em all”

– Connie Mack

CUT

WIDE SHOT OF DARKENING FIELD

CATCH LEE’S PROFILE AGAINST RISING MOON

The mind plays tricks on you. You play tricks back!

It’s like you’re unraveling a big cable knit sweater that someone keeps knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting …
– Pee Wee Herman

For a while, the panic and danger of the crisis had knocked everything else out of Lee’s head. But now, after hours of sitting, and aching, and feeling hopeless, his mind was ready to sock it to him again. Suddenly he was hyper aware of creepy sounds in the long grass—what kind of critters made their homes here, anyway? No doubt, ones with sharp little rodent teeth. Lee shivered. “Get it together, guy,” he whispered.

Soon the dark, gloomy feelings of the last couple of weeks started settling around him like a damp, gray army blanket. The sun was starting to set. The mosquitoes were coming out. And as much as he loved Santiago, he didn’t really know if she was up to the task. One thing for sure: He didn’t feel like listening to Rhonda’s voice anymore—and he sure as heck didn’t have the heart to tell her the rest of the Old Man story. I wish Santiago would get here, thought Lee, but what good does wishing ever do? Aaah, what the heck—Lee looked star-ward and whispered a string of words he felt way too old to be reciting: “Star light, star bright … yadda, yadda … I wish I may, I wish I might …”

Rhonda’s voice rudely broke his train of wishing.

“As long as there’s light at the top of this well,” she called, “I’ll be okay,”—the rest she barked like a threat—“but if I’m still down here when it gets dark, I’ll scream bloody murder, Lee, I really will.” In a more trembly voice, she added: “I couldn’t take it, Daddy. I just know it!”

“You won’t have to,” said Lee. “Santiago’s got what it takes. She’ll be on her way back right now. I can nearly smell her bad breath.” He wished he could believe what he was saying. He wished, he wished, he wi—Crud almighty, suddenly an earsplitting scream made him wish he’d been wearing earplugs.

“Aaaaaaaaaahh!! Lee!! You said there weren’t any spiders down here!! You promised!! Get off! EEEEEEEUUUUUUWWWWWW!! Get off me!! Ouch, my leg!!”

Lee nearly dropped the bucket. “Calm down, Rhonda. You just about gave me a friggin’ heart attack!”

“You told me they couldn’t breathe down here. You said there wouldn’t be a single one of the ugly, hairy, disgusting, creepy, disgusting, creepy, scum-sucking, slime-bucket little monsters down here. You lied! You’re a big fat liar!” And then she really started to cry—blubber-style.

Lee couldn’t take it. “It’s going to be all right,” he lied.

Rhonda blurted words between sobs. “You’re going to be able to hang onto that bucket, aren’t you, Daddy? You’re not going to let it go, right? Tell me you’re not going to let it come down on me.” It was as if the spider had single-handedly (perhaps eight-handedly?) pulled the plug on all her fear.

Lee ached to give her some peace of mind. “Rhonda,” he said, piling it on thick, “it’s all gonna be okay. I promise. You have to believe me.” As he said it, a sense of cold panic spread through his veins and arteries, giving him a strong suspicion that throwing up was about to become an involuntary reflex. Lee swallowed hard.

“No one is coming, Lee,” sobbed Rhonda. “Face it. Your arms are going to give out sooner or la—”

“Now stop it right there, Rhonda! Do you have any idea who’s holding onto this bucket?!” He asked so forcefully that Rhonda actually asked the stupidest question of her life:

“Who?”

“Lee McGillicuddy, that’s who — only the most qualified person on the planet — Lee Bounce-A-Basketball-For-Twelve-Straight-Hours McGillicuddy — Mr. Patience himself.” He looked up into the sky. “Ever heard of a guy named Perseus, Ron?”

“No.”

Lee counted to ten.

“So, who is he?” she called with disgust.

“Beats me,” said Lee, “but he said a cool thing: ‘He conquers who endures.’ Well, I’ve got endurance comin’ out of my butt, Rhonda. I’m more stubborn than the Old Man, for crying out loud. Heck, I might as well be the Old Man.”

That little performance for Rhonda seemed to suck more energy from Lee than all the bucket-holding in the world. Crap, I’m tired. Soooo tired. Lee winced from the searing pain of the fishing line cutting trenches into the palms of his hands. Fishing line? Oh, God. That’s when Lee’s brain got just a tad discombobulated …

He settled comfortably against the wood and took his suffering as it came and the fish swam steadily and the boat moved slowly through the dark water.

“Fish,” he said softly aloud, “I’ll stay with you until I am dead.”

– Ernest Hemingway from The Old Man and the Sea

… Lee felt weirdly dizzy—seasick, almost. He looked at the rope in his hands and felt confused. What’s at the other end of this thing … a fifteen hundred pound—fish? … crap, am I the Old Man?!!

Lee closed his eyes and listened to the echo of his absurd question—am I? Dude, what’s happening to you? But the words were enough to make something click inside his brain—like a light bulb going on. Lee opened his eyes and saw, not a fishing line, but an old rope, holding a very heavy bucket. And then he looked at his bleeding hands—hands that might as well have belonged to Señor Santiago, the stubborn old “I’ll Die Before I Let Go Of This Doggone Rope” Man of the Sea.

Lee looked up into the stars that had suddenly become his brothers and his sisters (yes, Rhonda), and, of all things … he laughed—a weak but definite laugh that was only a tiny bit delirious. “Okay,” he called into the sky. “I get it. Sometimes I’m a little slow, but yeah, I get it now!”

“Lee! Who are you talking to?!” called Rhonda.

“Just the Great Director in the sky, Ron … you wouldn’t understand.”

“Great what?! Ouch! Lee, don’t tell me you’re turning nutcase on me. Please don’t tell me you’re losing it, cuz, like …”

“Don’t worry, Ron,” interrupted Lee. “I’ve never felt saner. Listen, what I was telling you before? It’s not just a bunch of hooey. It’s the truth! You couldn’t be in better hands if you tried. Don’t you see, Ron? Me and the Old Man, we’re tight. We’re made of the same damn stuff!” Lee smirked in the darkness. “Rhonda,” he called, “if you and I were actors in a movie right now, this would go down as the corniest thing ever produced, ya figure?”

“What? Daddy, I don’t know what kind of meltdown you’re having right now, but do you think you could have it some other ti—”

“Oh, crud!” shouted Lee “Angel wings!”

“Angel wings?!” cried Rhonda. “You’re seeing angels now? Great. How long till the little pink elephants show up?” Rhonda’s irritability was expanding like the inflated throat of a nearby bullfrog, tuning its instrument for the long night ahead.

Lee didn’t notice. He was too busy thinking about this morning’s Angel Wings e-mail: May you trust that you are exactly where you were meant to be … blah, blah, blah.

“Ron, if I tell you something, do you promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

Too late, thought Rhonda.

“You know all those dumb marathon records I’ve been putting myself through for years? Do you think it’s possible they’ve been preparing me for this day … like, you know, training me for this exact moment?”

“Get a grip, Daddy—” said Rhonda, but Lee cut her off.

“No, really, think about it. If anyone can do this, it’s me. I could sit here holding onto this tonne-weight till next Christmas if I had to, even if my arms are like two squirts of Silly-String. I could pull Moby Dick across the ocean in a dinghy if I had to. I’ve got what it takes inside, Rhonda. I’m the one meant to be here holding on to this here rope.”

And that’s all it took. One little thought. One thought, the size of a matchstick, enough to re-ignite his pilot light.

Lee looked up into the stars. “Okay, I’m cool with the script,” he whispered. “Let’s go with it!”

“… Yeah, yeah,” mumbled Rhonda inside her echoing well. “You da man. You could bounce a basketball all the way to the North Pole with a team of reindeer tied to your butt if you had a mind to. Whatever. Just get me the heck out of this spider-infested hellhole.”

“What was that?” called Lee.

“I said, ‘You da man who’s meant to get me out of this wellhole!’”

Darn right, thought Lee.

Jeez, could it actually be that simple?

When the solution is simple, God is answering.

– Albert Einstein