By Meagan Frank (Rain, Sail Boat, Shame)
“What in the world is Alexander doing?” Frank asks.
“Who knows?” Sarah answers, before she even glances up from the basket of clothes she’s pinning on the line.
Frank and Sarah stand perplexed. Less than one hundred yards away from them, the tall, lanky frame of their thirty-year-old neighbor is moving slowly down the side-street as he pushes, pulls and cajoles a monstrosity of a structure precariously balancing on two wagons.
“What in the world?” Sarah whispers, “He’s finally lost it this time.”
“I’m sure he worked on it all winter,” Frank says, “But what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah says while tilting her head to get a different perspective.
Alexander stops to adjust what looks like a wooden platform, and smiles his toothless grin at his audience.
“Oh, how are ya’ Mr. and Mrs. Gustafson? What a great day today, isn’t it.”
“It sure is Alexander. Lots warmer than last week, huh?” Frank pauses, then asks, “What ya’ got there, buddy?”
“Oh, this?” Alexander pats the pile of old fence posts as he struggles to stop the momentum of the wheels, “This is my sail boat!”
“Your sail boat, huh? That’s great,” Sarah tries to sound convincing. “Where are you going sailing?”
Alexander turns back toward his purpose and moves away from the Gustafson’s as he says, “In the ocean, of course.”
“Of course,” Sarah mumbles. She grabs a long-sleeved shirt from the pile and clips it onto the line.
“What a shame,” she shakes her head in Alexander’s direction, “doesn’t that boy know he’ll never sail anywhere on that pile of logs? She turns directly toward Frank. “And what ocean? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s not even a lake in this town. In all my years, I’ve never even seen an ocean!”
“He doesn’t know any better, Sarah, you know that. I think it’s great,” Frank finally pulls himself off the rake he’s been leaning on and walks back toward his yard project.
“Great?” Sarah stops to turn toward Frank. “What is great about letting a man believe he’s built a sailboat and then letting him wander around looking for an ocean he’s never going to find?” she huffs.
Frank gently pulls the rake over the soft ground to make it receptive to what he’ll plant next.
“Sarah,” he starts softly, “Alexander has something most people lose along the way. He’s got hope. He sees the possibility of a rainbow when the rain clouds are heavy and there’s no sun in sight.” Frank turns toward his wife, “and I for one am grateful he sees a sailboat in that old pile of wood. In fact, I think I’ll go with him.”
Frank lays down his rake and starts off in the direction Alexander has gone.
“What? Frank. What do you mean?” He moves further and further down the street. “Frank!” Sarah leaves her basket and calls out, “Where do you think you’re going? We’ve got chores to do around here.”
Frank turns briefly toward her and says, “Don’t worry Sarah, there’s plenty of time for chores. They’ll get done. Today, though…today is a day for sailing.”
“What in the world is Alexander doing?” Frank asks.
“Who knows?” Sarah answers, before she even glances up from the basket of clothes she’s pinning on the line.
Frank and Sarah stand perplexed. Less than one hundred yards away from them, the tall, lanky frame of their thirty-year-old neighbor is moving slowly down the side-street as he pushes, pulls and cajoles a monstrosity of a structure precariously balancing on two wagons.
“What in the world?” Sarah whispers, “He’s finally lost it this time.”
“I’m sure he worked on it all winter,” Frank says, “But what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah says while tilting her head to get a different perspective.
Alexander stops to adjust what looks like a wooden platform, and smiles his toothless grin at his audience.
“Oh, how are ya’ Mr. and Mrs. Gustafson? What a great day today, isn’t it.”
“It sure is Alexander. Lots warmer than last week, huh?” Frank pauses, then asks, “What ya’ got there, buddy?”
“Oh, this?” Alexander pats the pile of old fence posts as he struggles to stop the momentum of the wheels, “This is my sail boat!”
“Your sail boat, huh? That’s great,” Sarah tries to sound convincing. “Where are you going sailing?”
Alexander turns back toward his purpose and moves away from the Gustafson’s as he says, “In the ocean, of course.”
“Of course,” Sarah mumbles. She grabs a long-sleeved shirt from the pile and clips it onto the line.
“What a shame,” she shakes her head in Alexander’s direction, “doesn’t that boy know he’ll never sail anywhere on that pile of logs? She turns directly toward Frank. “And what ocean? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s not even a lake in this town. In all my years, I’ve never even seen an ocean!”
“He doesn’t know any better, Sarah, you know that. I think it’s great,” Frank finally pulls himself off the rake he’s been leaning on and walks back toward his yard project.
“Great?” Sarah stops to turn toward Frank. “What is great about letting a man believe he’s built a sailboat and then letting him wander around looking for an ocean he’s never going to find?” she huffs.
Frank gently pulls the rake over the soft ground to make it receptive to what he’ll plant next.
“Sarah,” he starts softly, “Alexander has something most people lose along the way. He’s got hope. He sees the possibility of a rainbow when the rain clouds are heavy and there’s no sun in sight.” Frank turns toward his wife, “and I for one am grateful he sees a sailboat in that old pile of wood. In fact, I think I’ll go with him.”
Frank lays down his rake and starts off in the direction Alexander has gone.
“What? Frank. What do you mean?” He moves further and further down the street. “Frank!” Sarah leaves her basket and calls out, “Where do you think you’re going? We’ve got chores to do around here.”
Frank turns briefly toward her and says, “Don’t worry Sarah, there’s plenty of time for chores. They’ll get done. Today, though…today is a day for sailing.”