Lawrence Looks for Treasure

Part 2 - Chapter 14

14

The sun was hot as we biked out of town. Not oppressively hot. A golden kind of hot. A kind of summer hot that makes you forget about seasons, and wonder why people ever built houses at all.

We biked through Kinnard until we reached the old train track. Built during Confederation, it was part of Canada's first transnational railway. It hadn't operated since World War II—for transporting goods, anyway. People still used it to walk along and eat near and bike beside without worrying much about cars. If you follow the tracks long enough, you cross right through Kinnard, through Camp Okanagan and, should you persevere, through the whole damn country. We only planned to follow the tracks until Camp. But I wondered whether, once we had that treasure, I would just follow the rail to its end.

I had biked along these tracks a million times. But never to Camp. Not even close. Our trip felt different as a result. Biking past couples picnicking and kids playing, I prepared myself for anything, like I was a pioneer leaving to explore lands distant and unmapped, ready to navigate dark forests, escape wild beasts and battle man-eating savages. It was an adventure, after all. I had to be ready.

'You guys pack anything special?' Shouted Chris, who was biking in front.

'I brought a book,' I said. 'So we can read at night.'

'I brought toilet paper.' Matty said. 'So we can wipe our asses.'

'Check what I brought,' Chris shouted. He took one hand off his bike handle and, while biking, pulled from his pack a small axe. Then he waived it above his head and made a cheap kind of Indian chant: 'Lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo'. We all laughed.

'So, did anyone bring food, then?' I asked.

We looked at each other in agreement. No one had.

'I'm not so hungry yet,' Matty said.

'Me neither,' I said.

'We can stock up on food in Boucherville. It shouldn't be long,' Chris said.

Though the trip was my idea, Chris was undoubtedly our leader. Not in an overt way. Me and Matty just sort of admired him more, listened to him more—it was simply who he was more. Chris was a larger than life kind of guy. The kind of guy who, when he faces the world, you'd think, the world really stands no chance.

On we biked, past town, through hill, over beach, and under bridge. I felt like saying goodbye to Kinnard. I felt I wasn't returning. My friends were leaving. My parents separating. My home sold. Even if I wanted to return, I couldn't.

'I think we've gone far enough, Matty.' Chris said. 'It's time to confess. Where have you been all summer instead of work?'

The leaves rustled in the wind.

Shyly, Matty said: 'uh remember Ema moved to my street?'

'Yeah,' I said.

'Who?' Chris shouted, biking in front.

'Ema, Ema McGregor. She moved to my street.' Matty said, louder this time.

Ema was two years younger than we were. Mostly she was nerdy. But this past year, she started going to parties.

'What about Ema? Speak up!' Chris shouted. Matty was sore on the subject; Chris sensed it, and was pressing the bruise.

'Her family moved to my street . . .' Matty yelled. Then, reverting to whisper: '. . . so we've been hanging out.'

'You've been with Ema this whole time?' Chris asked.

'She's actually pretty cool, once you get to know her.'