The Great Adventure Before Him

 

Christmas 2023 

 

Bill knew Walter had many journeys ahead of him but this year's was the first to pose real danger.   

The preparation for the mission began at the disappearance of the last bit of Halloween candy, when Walter took off his Commander's uniform, sought a leave from Star Command and set his sights on what lay before him.  

“This year” Walter stabbing the air with his spoon, Bill catching the drips with a cloth, “this year, I am going to prove to those kids that he is real.” He went back to reading the cereal box as his father rinsed the cloth at the kitchen sink, “that a boyo Walter, go get it” he said over his shoulder.

Walter’s plan was simple.  He just had to sneak downstairs on Christmas Eve and take a picture of St. Nick in the family room.  But like all simple plans, the execution of it was in the detail and this required careful consideration and to consider things carefully, Walter needed to get to his boat. “Dad” he shouted down from the attic bedroom he shared with his three older brothers, “Dad, I need my oars, where did you put my oars?”  Bill came to the top of the creaky stairs and watched his youngest son through the unfinished spindles of the railing,   

“Did you look under the bed?” Bill could see the mini-sticks from where he stood.  Walter stood in the center of his blanket laid on the floor, its edges rolled up and reshaped into the hull of his boat. He looked from his father on the stairs to the ocean rolling around him and then stepped carefully over the side of the boat and swam, with great exaggerated strokes.  He reached where he knew the Marianas Trench lay below and with a quick plug of the nose, dove a thousand fathoms beneath the waters to get the oars from the bottom of the Trench.  He emerged triumphant, holding both of them above his head, waving at his blinking father on the top stair.  “Got them", shaking the dripping water from his hair.  Bill ducked so as to not get wet. 

Walter climbed back into the boat, nodded farewell to his father, pushing with one oar and pulling with the other, turning towards the Cape and with each pull he began the meticulous contemplation of the great adventure before him.

There were threats, traps that needed to be avoided.  Snotty nosed kids in school yards telling you that Santa didn’t really exist.  They were persistent, trying foes.  He gripped the oars tighter. There was already a mountain of evidence.  The toys, the presents, the stockings, all of them, arriving like clockwork each of the previous seven Christmas Eves.  Yet, those kids persisted, attacking him and his closest allies, demanding greater proof.  They were like the rocky shoals he drifted past on the way to the Cape, they were the sharks that circled his small boat.  He rowed further out, buttressing himself against the rising tide, knowing he could not fail. 

To stop the doubt, to quell the uncertainty, Walter needed evidence that was absolute.

His mind turned toward the route he must take. It lay before him like a great map. From the attic to the family room built in a repurposed garage, he would have to negotiate three flights of stairs, each a treacherous mountain pass, and then past his parents’ room, an arid desert he would have to army crawl to navigate it. He would have to be absolutely silent so as to not wake the sentries.   Then through the dining room, a lush plain with long grasses, hiding man-eating lions. Finally to the step, leading to the family room, to the tree, and if he was lucky, to the great man himself. It was the Hillary step, to navigate it was to live in infamy, but if he failed at the step, if he failed, Walter knew there would be no return. He would remain forever frozen on the cusp of the great discovery.  

He prepared with perhaps an over-exuberant enthusiasm.  He wanted to convey the sense of excitement for Christmas Eve but not betray the nervousness he felt at the onset of the mission in t-minus five hours, so each movement felt rehearsed, forced.  He poured the milk. He left out the cookies. Laid the carrots down for the reindeer. His brothers and sister and parents looked on.  He knew he could not take them with him. It was his journey and his alone and knew in his heart that they would understand. He hugged them, stepped away with a salute and then headed to the attic.

He lay in bed for a very, very long time, his phone charging beside him. Finally, after what seemed like months, his brothers’ breathing became rhythmic. He reached for his phone, taking it under his covers. “It’s time to go over the top boyo.  Godspeed to you.”  He gave himself a silent salute and began the journey to the step. 

The first mountain pass was treacherous, creaky.  It took a long time to descend.  The army crawl along the desert proved very difficult, the buttons of his uniform scraping on the wood floor with each movement.  Two more mountain passes lay ahead.  He rested for a moment, gathering himself.  Then with an unmatched stealth, he dropped down, navigating the second pass and the third in absolute silence.  The lush plain now ahead, Walter became afraid of the man-eating lions.  He could feel his heart race, peering across the dining room to where the final step lay. He needed to stop, to calm himself.  After a long moment he slid along the wall, his palms pressed flat against the rock face, watching for one of the mighty lions to make a fatal lunge. 

Then the step.  He lay on his stomach, his cheek turned and resting on the cold rock tile of the step leading to the family room, the tree, the great man. He gathered himself for his final approach; a Rocket Man about to land, but first he needed to rest.  He needed a moment to think of how far he had come, how far he had to go. He needed to be ready to take “one small step.”

Bill found him on the step and scooped him up into his arms. He felt his boy wrap his gangly legs around his waist.  He was so much heavier than last year and longer too, feeling Walter's heels pressing on the back of his thighs, just above his knees. He shuffled past the sleeping lions, wishing them a good night. Then climbed the two mountain passes, breathing harder as he climbed.  Then, across the desert, noting the trail left in the sand by the uniform of the Commander and then up the final pass. 

He tucked his boy in bed, whispered to all "go to sleep" and pulled the remnants of the boat up to the great adventurer's chin. He whispered, “Good job Commander”, kissing him on the forehead.  He stopped at the top of the creaky stair and looked back at his four sleeping boys. He put his hand on the wooden rail and sighed “I fear you'll make it next year.”