Have Spacecat, Will Travel: And Other Tails by John Hartness (top ebook reader .TXT) 📕

bones. She wasn’t alone. She never had to be alone again. She had all her brother Knights, and all the power of Camelot to draw upon. Gwen leapt again, and her legs, charged with the strength of someone used to riding for miles in full armor then spending a day in battle, flexed stronger than she had ever felt them. She wrapped her suddenly strong grip around the leather strap, and held on.

“I got it!” she shouted. “Pull us up.” She looked down into Tommy’s teary eyes and whispered, “It’s okay, buddy. You’re being super-brave, and in just a minute you’ll be up there with your mommy again.”

Four huge tugs later and her right arm and shoulder broke the plane of the ground. Jared let go of the leather belts and wrapped both hands around her wrist. “I got you, Gwen. I got you.” He slid backward on his rump, and Gwen scrabbled up the cliff with her legs, rolling over to shield Tommy as much as she could.

The second she was fully on solid ground, she reached down and unfastened her belt, setting the little boy free to clamber over her and run to his mother as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. Ranger Rick was already there with a big, red first aid kit, and Gwen could hear the siren as an ambulance pulled into the parking lot below. She lay flat on her back, looking up at the blue sky, feeling the strength of Gawain and the Round Table flow out of her, leaving her exhausted.

“Damn, Gwen. That was crazy,” Jared said, sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Yeah, remind me not to do that again.”

“It was really brave, though.”

“Thanks for pulling me up.”

“What else was I supposed to do, leave you there? Then who’d give me apple slices at lunch?” Gwen reached out and lightly punched him in the leg.

They stayed there catching their breath for a moment, then Jared spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I just don’t understand it, and it makes me a dick.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll try to do better. And I’ll make Scott be less of a dick, too.”

Gwen laughed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jared.”

Jared chuckled. “Okay, I’ll try to make Scott be less of a dick.”

They both laughed and clambered to their feet as Mr. Murden walked over to them. “Are you injured, Miss Dimont?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. That was very brave, and also very stupid. Please try to learn the difference between the two. Now, I believe we were only beginning our tour.” He turned and walked off to the rest of the class, Gwen and Jared in tow.

Scott walked up as they came to the main group of students. “Good job, Jared. Saved the kid, and the freak. You oughta get a merit badge or something.”

Jared didn’t say a word, just looked at his best friend for a long moment, then kneed Scott in the balls and walked right on past. Gwen covered her mouth with a hand to hide the smile, and felt a familiar click in her head, in the part of her that touched the magic of the Round Table. She looked at Jared, her mouth agape, and saw him limned in a white light, as if an aura surrounded him. It looked like Camelot had found another Knight. She smiled as she walked up the trail. Poor Jared had no idea what he was getting into…

18

Dancing with Fireflies

She stands by the edge of the yard

barely out of earshot

(at least that’s what she’s pretending

just like I’m pretending not to notice

she’s pushing boundaries again)

and whirls round and around,

sturdy baby-fat legs grapevining

on her twirling tippy-toes,

blond curls dancing in the dusklight

until she collapses,

wreathed in giggles and grass stains,

laughing up at the starlight starbright

first star she sees tonight

dancing with a million dizzy fireflies

as the world s l o w l y

ends its whirligig trip through the milky way

and everything settles on right-side-up again.

19

The Christmas Lights

Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, when all the women were running around to the mall looking for the latest sale on this or that, Jeremiah Green would get up early, go to the garage, and get down the cardboard boxes of lights. Then he’d get out the ladder, the hammer, and the extension cords and set to work. He’d work most of the day, with a break around lunchtime for a sandwich made from yesterday’s dried-out turkey on white bread with French’s yellow mustard and Miracle Whip and maybe some celery on the side with salt sprinkled on it. He’d sit on the porch in his old flannel shirt eating his turkey sandwich and celery, and crack open a Pabst from the cooler in the garage.

Helen didn’t cotton much to drinkin’, so he only had a beer on those rare occasions when she was gone and he had the house to himself. Most years a six-pack bought after the Fourth of July would last the rest of the year, then he’d allow himself another beer or two for New Year’s after Helen had gone to bed. She’d long since given up caring about watching some silly ball drop, figuring that she could tell it was a new year when she looked at the calendar the next morning at breakfast. The day changed every evening without her help; she didn’t need to stay up past her bedtime just to ring anything in.

Jeremiah liked to watch all the commotion on the tv, so he usually stayed up and had himself a beer or two while that Clark fella nattered on until he fell asleep. Then he’d wake up sometime in the middle of the night and go to bed.

Then once he finished his turkey sandwich, Jeremiah (not once in his eighty-two years was he ever Jerry or Jer, or God forbid, Jed) would lean the ladder up against the side of the house and start to string the lights. By the time Helen got home from shopping with her sisters, it would be full-on dark, and Jeremiah would