From the shores of Indian Island …

(Excerpt from Saving Sailor)

Indian Lake, Idaho, July 1968

I’m sittin’ in a rowboat in the middle of Indian Lake with my dog, Sailor. He’s a collie-shepherd mix with one brown eye, and one that looks like a marble. He’s wearin’ a bright orange life jacket, as any seaworthy dog should when playing shipmate. Sometimes we pretend we’re on the high seas awaitin’ capture from handsome rogue pirates. But today we’re just driftin’.

The oars lie on the floorboard of the wood dinghy; a slight breeze sweeps over us, rufflin’ up Sailor’s long fur. We’re just soakin’ up the sun, and floatin’ by the island where our family spends our summers.

My mama is reclinin’ on the dock in her new Hollywood sunglasses. She’s got a paperback novel in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. My big sister, Adriana, is slathering on baby oil, singin’ along to her transistor radio. My big brother, J. R., short for Sonny Jr., is gutting a fish over on the big rocks, while the younger twins, Benji and Dino, are still tryin’ to catch their first fish of the day.

All of this is goin’ on, while at the same time I’m in the middle of a conversation with God:

“… And so, Lord, if we get to pick what age we’ll be in heaven, I choose nine years old, because I am havin’ the best year of my life. I know I say that every year, but this time I mean it. And next year, if I change my mind, don’t believe me. I promise it will always be nine.”

I have this feelin’ deep down inside that I will never change my mind. I just don’t see how it can get any better than driftin’ with my dog on a sunny afternoon, goin’ wherever the wind takes us …